Darcy felt it in his bones.
The world contracted to nothing but this—the warmth of her, the press of her lips, the way she leaned into him as though she had been waiting for this moment as long as he had. His heart hammered so hard he was certain she must feel it. His breath came ragged, unsteady, completely beyond his control.
He had never felt so exposed and never felt so alive.
When they finally separated, it was by inches. Slow. Reluctant. As though some invisible force kept drawing them back together. Darcy's forehead nearly touched hers. He could feel her breathagainst his lips, quick and uneven, matching the chaos of his own.
Her eyes fluttered open. Dark. Dazed. Beautiful.
“Oh,” she breathed.
They separated at last, both flushed, both breathing unsteadily, both transformed by what had passed between them.
A beat of silence.
Then chaos.
Mrs. Bennet collapsed into the nearest chair, fanning herself with both hands, alternately laughing and sobbing. “TWO! Two daughters engaged in one night! Oh, I shall die of happiness!”
“You are not dying, Mama,” Miss Elizabeth said, her voice remarkably steady given the circumstances. “And I am not?—”
“Not yet, perhaps, but soon! I can see it! Mr. Darcy is completely besotted! Oh, my nerves!”!”
Caroline looked as though she had swallowed something deeply unpleasant. Her face had gone through several colors in rapid succession and settled on a shade of gray that clashed horribly with her gown.
Bingley was beaming. He crossed the room in three strides and embraced Darcy with enthusiasm that nearly knocked him off balance.
“I knew it!” he declared. “I knew there was something between you! This is the happiest night of my life—and yours too, I suspect!”
“Bingley—”
“No need to be modest! The whole room saw it! You are caught, my friend, thoroughly and completely caught!”
Darcy could not bring himself to mind.
He looked at Miss Elizabeth, who was being embraced by Jane, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes bright with unmistakable joy.
She caught his gaze over her sister's shoulder and smiled—a private smile, meant for him alone.
He smiled back, feeling lighter than he had in years.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur.
Guests offered congratulations he barely heard. Caroline attempted to intercept him multiple times and was rebuffed with increasing firmness. Mrs. Bennet recounted the mistletoe moment to everyone within earshot, embellishing freely with each telling.
Darcy endured it all gladly, because Miss Elizabeth was never far from his side.
They did not speak of anything significant—the crowd made privacy impossible—but they did not need to. Every glance, every accidental brush of fingers, every shared smile communicated more than words ever could.
When the Bennets finally prepared to depart, Darcy offered to escort them to their carriage.
He walked beside Miss Elizabeth through the entrance hall, past the garlands and ribbons and treacherous sprigs of mistletoe that had caused so much wonderful chaos. The night air was cold against his flushed face as they stepped outside, snow falling softly around them.
“Miss Elizabeth.” He stopped at the carriage door, reluctant to let her go even for a few hours. “I will call tomorrow. Early.”
“I will be waiting.” Her voice was warm, her eyes bright in the flickering torchlight. “Early.”
“There is still much to say. Much to arrange.”
