His pretence dissipated; he went from smiling and nodding distractedly at all her answers to looking at her with piercing intensity. “Knowles. I beg you would not accept him. I could give you a hundred reasons why not if I thought you wanted to hear them, only please, do not marry him.”
Elizabeth stared at him, her heart racing at such a pace it was nigh-on painful. She hardly dared believe what she thought he was saying, but oh how dearly she wished to! “I do want to hear them,” she whispered.
“Hear what?”
“Your hundred reasons.”
He searched her face as though trying to ascertain her thoughts, then seemed to give up the endeavour with a small shake of his head and the sweetest smile Elizabeth had ever seen.
“You will hear them all and more, but there is really only one that matters. I do not want you to marry him because that would mean you could not marry me.”
Elizabeth gasped quietly, then bit her lips together in an attempt to contain the swell of emotion that rose up in her. “In that case,” she said as collectedly as she could, “you might like to know that I was not planning to marry Mr Knowles.”
“You were not?”
“Not at any point.”
His relief was unmistakable, as was the strength of his regard when he reverently took up her hand and held it in both of his. “Does this mean you will agree to marry me?”
Elizabeth could not repress the happy laughter that escaped her lips, nor the ecstatic smile that stretched her mouth from ear to ear, nor the vigorous nodding of her head. “Yes! Yes, I will!”
She had never seen any person look as happy as Darcy did then. She was used to him being more economical with his expressions, and she marvelled at how well heartfelt delightsuited him. So apparent and profuse were his feelings, it was not much of a surprise when they spilt over, and he stood up, pulling her to her feet with him. She knew not whether he meant to spin her around the room in a reel or pull her into an embrace. Neither did he, apparently, for he ended up somewhere betwixt the two, standing toe to toe with her, his mouth inches from hers, and his eyes on her lips.
The last thing Elizabeth wished was to put any space between them, but she had only narrowly evaded one scandal and had no wish to stumble directly into another. She stiffened, unsure what to do.
“It is well,” Darcy said in a low voice, and he gestured to the rest of the room with a glance.
She turned her head and exhaled in relief to see that her concerns were unwarranted. But for the warm glow of countless candles, the soft music floating in on the air from another room, and the watchful faces of a hundred portraits—and them—the upper east exhibition room was entirely empty. And Kitty was right again; it was quite the most romantic setting Elizabeth could ever have imagined for being reunited with the man who completely owned her heart.
She turned back to Darcy. He was waiting for her, his happiness undiminished, his smile unwavering, and his heart laid open. She brought her hands to rest upon the lapels of his jacket and tilted her head up to his.
He cradled her face with his hands. “Only a cad would kiss an unmarried woman in a public gallery.”
She gave a small hum of agreement. “But you are my cad. And I love you.”
The fervour this induced in Darcy did indeed add an undertone of roguishness to his kiss, but Elizabeth did not object in the slightest. By the time Kitty and Sergeant Mulhall found them, both expressing their surprise to see Mr Darcy there,they were returned to their previous, respectable attitude on the couch. Elizabeth’s new knowledge of her future husband’s rakish capabilities—and her enjoyment of them—was an exceedingly happy discovery but not one she would like to be widely known. Better it was kept a secret how well Elizabeth Bennet liked a cad.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It had been agreed, before Darcy left for the gallery, that Fitzwilliam and Georgiana would be conveyed back to Darcy House in Rutherford’s carriage. He was not surprised, therefore, when his butler informed him upon returning home that both were waiting for him in the drawing room. He knew they would be anxious for him and was sorry to have kept them waiting this long, but he hoped his news would be more than adequate compensation.
He felt a palpable surge of exhilaration at the prospect of telling them. Saying it aloud, being congratulated for it, must, after all, make it real. After such a long time despairing of a joyous outcome, Darcy had suffered more than one moment of doubt on the journey home. He had taken to rolling the hair pin in his pocket between his thumb and forefinger to assure himself that he had not fallen and hit his head on the way to the gallery and dreamt the whole scenario—that he truly was engaged to Elizabeth.
A better piece of evidence he could not have wished for, obtained as it was in the transcendent moment that he finally took Elizabeth in his arms. Their union had been a long time coming, and though brief by necessity, their kiss had beenunguardedly and magnificently passionate as a result. When Darcy guiltily plucked the loosened pin from Elizabeth’s hair and held it up for her to take, she had told him to keep it. He had not cavilled. He was considering having it framed.
He made his way to the drawing room and entered to discover Fitzwilliam and Georgiana sitting in silence. His entrance startled them both, but once they had seen him, neither seemed willing to speak first. They watched him without saying a word as he walked to the sideboard. He turned his back on them to pour a drink, smiling to himself as he did. Were he of a disposition in which happiness overflowed in mirth, he might have made a greater show of his announcement, but his happiness was a more contained, intense business. He felt abuzz with it, as though if someone were to poke him, they might receive a shock from all the elation coiled inside him. His glass filled, he sauntered over to lean against the mantel. His sister and cousin glanced at each other nervously; he pretended not to notice.
Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “Did you, um…did you manage to speak to her?”
“I did.”
“And?”
He took a sip of his drink and savoured the feel of its gentle burn as he swallowed. His first toast to the certain bliss he had just secured for himself. “She is engaged.”
Fitzwilliam swore quietly.
“But did you tell her about Mr Knowles?” Georgiana asked. “Does she know he is not to be trusted?”
