“Elizabeth. I… I must speak with you. That is to say,” he began awkwardly as he came to stand, the chilled rain forcing him to speak quicker, “I cannot delay any longer. My… my honest, true affection, nay, love, has grown each day. Simple words they may be, yet, I love you. Please, I ask you to end my suffering and accept me, heart and soul and all else that I am or have.”
Licking the rain from her lips, she turned her face upward toward him, the bright, mischievous expression he so loved evident in her gaze. “Is this a proposal?” she teased; the softness of her hand on his arm assuring him she meant no rebuttal.
“It is, madam,” he smiled down at her. “Poorly timed and spoken, but such is the way when a man is in love… too often he finds himself delightfully befuddled.”
A brow raised, she lifted his hand to her lips, “Well then, I hope my acceptance is worth your having endured such a muddle.”
“Well worth it,” he breathed sharply at the tingle of her lips against his knuckles.
“For I do find I have endured my own share of it,” she continued, a second soft kiss left on his hand. “And your proposal is both curative and dizzying in turn.”
Drawing her hands away, Darcy pulled her toward him, his lips curling happily as they met with hers, though the rousing cheer of several men and a severe ‘harumph’ forced them apart all too soon.
Aldry or Fitz had to be the ringleaders,Darcy thought, his displeased eyes finding his happy cousin in front of him, the man’s arms still wrapped firmly around Mary.
A new cheer rising, Darcy turned toward the remaining irritation, the sight of Lightcliffe, Aldry, and Peters nothing to the amused, disgruntled face of Elizabeth’s father.
“What is this?” Mr. Bennet asked, a hint of laughter concealed loosely within.
Apparently, they would have a great deal of explaining to do.
A delightful bit of explaining at that,he considered as he kept his arm around Elizabeth, her head pressing against his side.Yes. Rather delightful at that.
Epilogue
A Profusion of Happy Couples
The unexpected connection of Bingley’s family to the tale Darcy had heard regarding Captain C. S. Rotter had proved one of many reasons for the kidnappings. Money, revenge, and a desire to move up in the world had all played their part for both Bingley and Wickham, though evidence discovered in the days following proved that Bingley possessed a far darker character; his first kidnapping two years prior ending far less happily than this, and a string of innocent young ladies he jilted and men he had beaten each serving to blacken his character.
Naturally, Bingley, Wickham, and Ian found the full effect of justice to be unpleasant: their trials and those of the men who worked with them brief; the verdicts of guilt abounding in sentences of deportation or worse. Only John, who had helped Mary and Richard time and time again, was spared such judgements, his sentence limited to a year in prison, the couple having done their utmost to have it lessened.
Yet, though the trials held both relief and worry, they, just as the seasons, had their end. A time of joy came with the spring, and before another year passed everything had answered their hope.
“Any sign of them?” Darcy asked as he entered Pemberley’s drawing room, his steps flowing naturally to his wife before he wrapped his arms around her, a soft kiss laid on her hair.
“No,” she smiled up at him, “though with how many travel to be here, I would be astounded if they arrived anytime in the next two hours–my guess would be nearer four.”
“A wager?” Darcy asked, a playful smirk forming. “I should be loath to obtain money from my bride, but a gift to the winner? Such I would accept.”
“I said nothing of a wager,” she stated, her eyes twinkling, “though I agree to your choice–a gift to the winner–but how shall we determine the winner? I think it shall be four hours or more before they arrive, and you?”
“Believe they shall be here within the next three.”
“It seems I have the advantage with such a bet,” she mused, “though I happily accept it. Very well, if they arrive any time between now and a quarter to three, you are the victor. If they should arrive between then and the next hour, we shall count it a tie. And anything after, I earn the victory.”
“Agreed!”
Shaking hands to seal the wager and with a desire for good sportsmanship on both sides, the two set to the task of enjoying what time together they might before their houseful of guests would arrive. Yet, as their eyes ever drew toward the nearby clock, it appeared neither would set aside their wager fully.
“They have been spotted coming down the drive,” Mrs. Reynolds breathed heavily as she rushed in. “Young Lionel in the gardens observed three carriages.”
Turning toward the clock in unison, Elizabeth let out a light groan as Darcy grinned, the time reading half past two–a mere fifteen minutes having provided him with victory.
“I concede you win,” Elizabeth admitted as she stood, her petulant lips drawing his attention, “though only just. What it shall be remains to be seen, but you, sir, shall receive your prize.”
Drawing her hand to his lips, he whispered, “You are worth more than any prize.”
Her eyes growing soft before brightening in a wicked plot, she lifted her chin, “Then no gift is required? Or perhaps you would accept a twig, or a pebble, in payment?”
