Chapter 19

Nineteen

Moving with haste through the manor's maze of dim galleries and long, unlit passages, Elizabeth expected to encounter a maid or a footman, but she supposed they were bustling about below.

She turned another corner. Nothing looked familiar. It was just as she had predicted days ago, and she despaired of ever finding her way. Why on earth had she run instead of seeking Mr Darcy or Mr Collins? Was she a stranger to common sense? At least she seemed to have escaped Mr Brinton.

Having worked herself into a state of distress at that gentleman's persistent pursuit, she had made the excuse of needing to fetch something from her cloak in the ladies' retiring room. Which is not above stairs. So why did I stupidly follow Miss Roche's misdirection? What am I doing up here? And where is the elusive staircase?

At supper, Mr Brinton had flattered her beyond reason. Then, in the ballroom, he had importuned her about capturing her likeness in oils. Going on and on about what a vision she was in that gossamer gold netting, he had been insistent on her wearing it while sitting for the portrait. The slightly indecent one of Anne had come to mind, and Elizabeth presumed the artist meant for her to wear the netting and nothing more.

Descrying a sliver of light escaping beneath a door and surmising someone must be within, Elizabeth ran towards the glow, her spirits rising apace. When lightly tapped, the ajar door creaked open, and she stumbled inside, eyes adjusting to the light of a lantern and candles.

"Dubois! Oh, I am so very glad to see you. I beg your pardon for invading your bedchamber."

The room was tiny. Spools of metallic threads glittered in the candlelight, and through a window, the waxing gibbous moon illuminated stacks of cushions in a corner.

"This is a sewing room, Miss Bennet." The lady's maid frantically stuffed bobbins and shuttles into work baskets and bags. Looking then towards the doorway, she wrung her hands. "Are you alone?"

"Yes," replied Elizabeth.

"No," said a deep, male voice.

After thanking someone named David, Mr Darcy stepped inside the room.

Soft, hurried footfalls from the hall padded closer, and the three inside turned in their direction. Rounding the doorway, Anne was stopped short by her cousin's chest.

"Darcy!" She rubbed her nose and sounded indignant. "What are you doing here?" Peering round him, she gasped. "And Elizabeth!" Shoulders slumped, she heaved a sigh. "Well, Dubois, I believe our bit of sport has come to an end."

Mr Darcy shook his head at her. "I suspected the perpetrator was a young lady with no notion of a waistcoat's worth, but I never suspected you …until earlier tonight." He pulled something from his fob pocket. "I believe this is yours, Anne." A gold guinea gleamed in his hand.

"I do not understand." Elizabeth frowned. "Oh! Is this about the thievery?"

Anne stamped her foot in its dainty dancing slipper. "It is not thievery! Any gold threads removed from this manor's textiles belong to me , and I care not a fig if a few fripperies and cushions do not glitter as brilliantly as before." Under her breath, she added, "Besides, all of this soon will seem utterly inconsequential."

Elizabeth held a section of her gown's netting up to a candle. Gossamer, pale blond silk shimmered. Darker gold embroidery glinted in reflected light. "Are these?—"

"Yes, madam." In a sardonic tone, Darcy said, "I suspect the golden threads forming those pretty little flowers were extracted from cushions in what once was Sir Lewis de Bourgh's favourite room."

Even in dim light, Elizabeth's embarrassment was evident. "Is that true, Anne? Am I attending an elegant private ball wearing pieces of your late father's cushions ?" Palms covered her face.

"They look beautiful on you," Mr Darcy said, Anne echoing the sentiment.

Elizabeth's shoulders shook, and the others offered comforting words until Anne cried, "Elizabeth Bennet, are you laughing ?"

"Yes! Yes, I am. And as Mr Darcy knows, I dearly love a laugh."

Darcy whispered something in Anne's ear. She nodded and took a fond look about the room.

"Come along, Dubois. Our work here is done." To her cousin and Elizabeth, she said, "Do not linger, you two. I have something of paramount importance to relate to my mother, and I should like both of you there with us."

Once mistress and maid had gone, Mr Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "I have an apology to make. You were distressed earlier by something Brinton said or did, and I did not rush to your aid. Please forgive me." He took up her gloved hand in his. "I swear with my life and until the end of my days, if you would allow it, I will care for you and safeguard you whenever you need protection."

Love swelled until Elizabeth feared her heart might burst. "I understand you had other duties, sir, and I am beginning to suspect I was in no peril at all. In fact, I would be surprised if there is not some sort of scheme afoot. Did you happen to notice that your cousin's robe perfectly?—"

"Matches Brinton's waistcoat? Yes, I did. But enough about them." Mr Darcy had yet to release her hand. "Let us not waste this golden opportunity, Miss Bennet. I wish to now have that private conversation alluded to earlier." His voice had become husky, and he cleared his throat. "Every night for the past eleven days, I prayed to God that you might remain a part of my life and that I may be welcomed into yours—to be your friend, to laugh with you, and to wipe every tear that falls."

With a hoarse voice quavering with emotion, he begged her pardon. "I have spoken so much in the past few days that I fear the words I wish to say to you might remain forever lodged in the back of my throat."

"If you are like other gentlemen and carry a flask in that coat, I shall not object if you take a sip."

He thanked her and turning away, did just that. Facing her again, he reclaimed her hand and admitted he had first admired her at Lucas Lodge. "Each succeeding encounter built upon that initial admiration until it became immoveable affection. Even after you refused me, I knew you were the only woman in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."

Elizabeth blushed to hear her own words repeated back, but the fervent, burning look in his eyes told her she was loved.

"You are more precious than all the gold in the world, and I— I love you." More emphatically, he repeated, "I love you."

Those three words produced in her the tremors of a most palpitating heart. Tears welled in her eyes, and unable to help herself, she sniffed as a salty drop slid down her cheek.

"Here, now," Mr Darcy whispered, wiping it away. "This is not the time for tears…unless they be mine should you say no."

"To what, sir?" She sniffed again. "You have yet to ask a question."

"Then let me be explicit. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, may I be your husband? Will you be my wife, my helpmate, my partner? Will you share with me life's joys and sorrows? Will you be my lover and the mother of my children? Will you grow old with me? Will you stand with me before an altar and say I will?" He waited. " Now would be an excellent time to say yes."

"Yes!" She was laughing; she was crying. "Yes, I will marry you, Mr Darcy."

"My heart is yours," he whispered, though no one else was near.

"I shall carry it with me for evermore."

With a stuttering intake of breath, she felt his hand on her nape, drawing her closer. Then his mouth was on hers, tender and tasting of brandy and of heavenly delight. When both his hands cupped her face, the kiss contained all the pent-up passion of the past five months.

Her sentiments towards him were all that was respectful, tender, and exquisite. I love him to the utmost, to the very top of the cup, quite brim-full!

From the ballroom far below, music grew louder, the cadence faster.

Mr Darcy stepped back and extended his hand. "Do you not feel a great inclination to dance a reel?"

Throwing back her head, Elizabeth laughed.

In that sewing room with faces beaming, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy danced. Golden threads in the floral hem of the lady's gown sparkled by candlelight.

The smile on his face had not subsided. "I have not felt so young, so alive, so carefree since boyhood." He stopped dancing. "Dearest Elizabeth, how I love you!"

"And I love you, dear sir, not merely a little ." When he remained silent, she asked if he was not diverted.

"Oh yes. I am diverted. Diverted by that smile. Diverted by those lips as soft as rose petals." He dipped his head towards Elizabeth's mouth.

"Ahem." The voice belonged to a fair-haired young footman whose face grew increasingly red. "I beg your pardon, but Miss de Bourgh requests your presence in the back parlour."

Mr Darcy whispered in Elizabeth's ear, "Let Anne wait." Again he determinedly dipped his head to her lips.