She left the room.
Darcy sat watching the seconds tick by on the mantel clock until his limbs could be still no longer. He paced the length of the room until he had memorized how many steps it took him to get from one end to the other. Then he paced the width until he knew the dimensions of the room and the position of every piece of furniture—no small number, given Mrs. Bennet’s exaggerated tastes.
Usually vulnerable to uncertainty, Darcy was tormented by anguished doubts. What if Elizabeth did not want him? What if he had to marry Anne? Dear Lord, what had he done? Another bout of nausea gripped him, and he sat in the nearest chair with his head between his knees. Of all the bad ideas he had ever avoided, this was the worst.
The floor creaked, and he looked up to see Elizabeth in the doorway. Mrs. Hill was behind her, grinning her gappy grin, though Darcy failed to see what there was to be happy about. He had never been so miserable. He stood, holding on to the back of the chair for support.
Calmly, without expression, Elizabeth entered the room. In a heartbeat, the door slammed behind her, and Darcy heard Mrs. Hill lock them inside the parlor.
In the next moment, Elizabeth’s hands were spread against the lapels of his coat, sliding up to his collars, twirling his hair around her fingers. Her breath tickled his lips as she rose to her toes. “I want you, Fitzwilliam. Not your money, not your protection. You, you mad, lovable fool!”
He was too stunned to believe his good fortune. “Pray do not trifle with me. I love you too much.”
“I love you, Fitzwilliam. I choose you.”
His lips crushed down on hers. There was nothing tentative about the way she responded. For a few blissful moments, they lost themselves in the comfort and promise of each other.
The sound of clapping brought them to their senses. A crowd of mostly grinning faces gathered in the now-open doorway.
“It is a good thing you marry on Monday,” Richard said.
Miss Kitty slapped at Miss Mary’s hands, which were blocking her view. “We should not look,” Miss Mary said, although her actions attempted to protect her sister’s eyes rather than her own.
Miss Bennet swayed in front of Richard, her hands over her heart. “I knew you were a love match all along.”
A love match. Darcy preferred that over a compromise and forced marriage. In that moment, he made a choice of his own—nay, a vow befitting a Darcy: he would court Elizabeth every day of the rest of their lives.
EPILOGUE
SPRINGTIME, 3 YEARS LATER, LONGBOURN
Fitzwilliam and Richard did their best to smooth Bingley’s hair into submission, but their friend was too excited to stand in one place for long enough.
“Will you hold still?” Darcy demanded.
Bingley spun around, rubbing his hands together, his face too small for the grin he wore. “I apologize. I must look a fright, but I simply cannot wait. Is it time yet?”
“Very nearly. Now, let me just fix this,” Richard licked his thumb and went to work. “No more tugging. Cross your arms over your chest if you must, but we cannot allow your bride to think you rode here through a windstorm.”
Bingley did as he was bid, and Elizabeth exchanged a smile with Jane and Georgiana.
The parish fell silent, the doors opened, and Papa walked the bride down the aisle.
Kitty looked resplendent in a cream gown with rose petal pink trim.
Georgiana wrapped her arm around Elizabeth’s and whispered into her ear. “Is she not stunning?”
Kitty was radiant. Judging by the look Bingley gave her, he certainly thought so too. He had become everything Fitzwilliam had taught him to be as the master of Netherfield. As a gentleman, he was the perfect blend of amiability and responsibility to suit Kitty.
A glimmer of gold caught the corner of her vision, and Elizabeth looked over to see the sun shining on John Lucas’ hair. She squeezed Georgiana’s arm and nudged her chin in his direction.
Georgiana stifled a giggle. “No wonder Lydia is behaving so well.”
Elizabeth smiled. Lydia’s determination to be the first to marry had been frustrated with each one of her sisters’ weddings. She would instead be the last Bennet to marry. Lydia liked to say that if she could not have the wealthiest or best connected or most amiable husband of her sisters, she was determined to marry the handsomest. Of course, that was Lydia’s opinion. After three years of marriage, Fitzwilliam still sent Elizabeth’s heart racing and her stomach aflutter.
“I suspected she would had she known he would be here,” Georgiana continued.
A gasp escaped Elizabeth, eliciting a stern look from Mama, who would not have Kitty’s wedding interrupted for the world. Very quietly, Elizabeth said, “This must beyourdoing! He was supposed to be at a house party in Shropshire.”
