Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Everyone is in on it," Captain Carter explained to Lydia over lawn bowls. "And no one believes Darcy will get her."

Lydia snort-laughed. It was beyond diverting to imagine that Lizzy was the object of some great game amongst the gentlemen, a contest between Mr Darcy and his cousin! How droll! She wondered idly whom Lizzy would pick. Mr Darcy had more money, of course, but the colonel… She allowed her eyes to fall on that man. Yes, quite dashing.

"We sisters have our own little games, you know. For the sake of my own wager, I should dearly like to see her kiss Mr Darcy."

"The colonel is a favourite of most ladies who like a red coat," said Captain Carter, no doubt seeking reassurance of Lydia's favour. But she was determined not to give it to him. Men were too quick to become complacent. It did them good to feel uncertain.

"I can see that," she mused. "Not the handsomest face, to be sure, but a lady does admire an athletic build like his."

The captain frowned and tossed his ball, which not only overshot the jack but sent it careering off. Lydia laughed loudly but quickly changed to a more placating countenance when he glanced her way.

"Bad luck!" she exclaimed. "I think the lawn is dreadful uneven, do not you?"

He looked relieved. "It is. What say you that we quit this stupid game and eat?"

"I should like that above all things," Lydia cooed, "but I do wonder…"

"What?"

"As much as I like a little wager among sisters, all I stand to gain for it is some old shoe roses."

"You are welcome to throw in with the regiment," Carter replied. "I can lay your bet for you, if you wish me to."

"I do," she said, lashes fluttering in a way she hoped was beguiling. "After all, more money in my pocket can only mean more fun in Brighton! Put it on Mr Darcy—I might as well have all my eggs in one basket."

They spoke more of Brighton as they went to where long tables had been laid with all manner of delicacies. Miss Bingley had done an excellent job arranging the picnic, commissioning cold meats and cheeses, heaps of fresh, crusty bread, a tower of delicious-looking fruits.

Lydia's father had also come to fill a plate, and hearing Carter rattling away about Brighton, he remarked in a very calm way, "We shall hope to have plenty of letters from you, young man, so that we too may know the delights of which you speak."

"I shall write to you, Papa," Lydia cried out staunchly. "Not every day, of course, but you may depend on a letter or two, that much I promise."

"About that… Finish your luncheon, child, and then I wish to speak to you."

By all means. Lovelier words had never been spoken.

She just sent Fitzwilliam packing in favour of me. Darcy could scarcely credit that and yet, Fitzwilliam was banished and he alone had the privilege of extending his arm to receive Elizabeth's hand. I think she did. She sent him packing.

Her hand made a charming weight in the crook of his arm as they continued across the lawn towards the garden where the roses, as well as some spring blooms, made a beautiful prospect. None so beautiful as the one beside me , he thought.

A loud laugh made Elizabeth stiffen, then glance backwards to where one of her sisters played lawn bowls with Captain Carter. She gave a little frown and a sigh, followed with a shake of her head.

"I think you are very worried about your sister," Darcy observed mildly as they entered the garden.

"I was so very offended by the implication that my father did not do as he should to guide his daughters."

"I never should have presumed?—"

"You were correct. Which makes it all the worse, unfortunately." She laughed, but it sounded forced. "This scheme of hers to go to Brighton is excessively ill-advised. When I see how she behaves with my mother and father only paces away?—"

"Elizabeth." He said her name in a low tone, and she stopped mid-stride to look up at him. "Pray worry no more about this."

"How can I not? Lydia is too heedless, far more concerned with entertaining herself than with ensuring that she?—"

"Elizabeth." Darcy decided to risk covering her hand with his. "As it happens, I spoke to your father last night about this very thing. I told him why some men—one in particular—ought not to be trusted."

"Thank you." She gave him a smile, albeit a worried one. "Alas, my father is not the sort to hear gossip. Even with names and dates, he tends to disbelieve?—"

"He believed me," Darcy said with quiet insistence. "For I gave him all the names and dates he required. Your father might be a sceptic, like his daughter, but I do think he had faith enough in my character to know I would not impugn my own sister so easily."

She came to a halt and turned towards him, her mouth agape. "You did not tell him?—"

"I did."

"About...your sister?"

He nodded.

"Sir." She breathed the word, her eyes round and astonished. "I cannot believe—what made you do such a thing?"

"You," he said. "You alone. Yes, there is part of me that is ashamed I had not done it before—countless other young women have undoubtedly fallen prey to him in consequence of my silence. But I acted for the sake of removing the worry from your heart. I could not allow you to suffer when I had the means to fix it."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she looked at the ground; she was pleased, and he was pleased with himself for having occasioned her pleasure. If you would marry me , he told her silently, I would see to it that you never had any cause to worry ever again .

"I thank you," she said finally, "even if I know my sister will not. Who knows what might have happened to her there so far away from her family?"

"Perhaps nothing," he said, offering her his arm once more.

"Or perhaps everything," she concluded with a delicate shudder. "She is too poor to marry, but there is too much else to consider... But never mind any of that. She will be safe at Longbourn, thanks to you."

They rambled about the gardens for quite some time—Elizabeth hardly knew how long. She had never been overly fond of roses, but it seemed Mr Darcy's mother had been an enthusiast, and seeing Netherfield's roses provoked a great many memories within him.

"What is your favourite flower?" he asked her as they strolled towards the hedge maze.

"A flower I saw only once," she admitted. "And in a glass house no less—a camellia."

"A camellia? I do not think I have ever seen one. What did you like about it?"

"If I am being honest," she said with pursed lips, "it is entirely likely that I admire it just because it is unusual. Ask ten English ladies what flowers they like best and six will reply they like roses, another three will say lilies, and the last will surprise us with gardenia or orange blossom."

"So you will not be impressed by Pemberley's roses," he said in a musing tone. "Then I shall write, directly, to the head gardener and tell him to install as many camellias as he can."

She had no idea what to say to that. She stopped on the path and turned so that she was facing him with the questions of her heart looming large between them. "Camellias at Pemberley?"

He too stopped and turned towards her, speaking in an intimate tone. "Consider it my pledge to you. Whatever you wish for, if it is within my power to give it to you, then I shall. Large, small, everything in between. You would want for nothing, Elizabeth."

She looked down between them, still searching her mind for the best reply to what was almost another proposal.

"I do not mean to declare myself. Not yet, not in this way," he continued. "But if there is no hope, I pray you would tell me that. Do not leave me to deceive myself, I beg you."

Of its own accord, Elizabeth's hand rose, going to land upon the lapel of his jacket. He reached up immediately and covered it with his own hand and so they stood, suspended in a moment of great feeling. Her heart was throbbing painfully, so loud she was certain he could hear it. Her voice emerged just barely above a whisper as she said, "It is not hopeless."

His breath emerged in a sound between a groan and a sigh. He lifted their hands from his lapel, pressing a kiss onto her gloved palm.

It was easy then to rise on her toes, to angle her face in the direction that would be best to receive his kiss. His eyes widened and seemed to question her—but then he closed them, all the better, it seemed, for his lips to claim hers.

His lips were soft and shockingly warm, but she had little time to think anything of that before a strident voice rang out.

"You! How dare you!"