She was in his arms in a heartbeat. “Would that I could erase from your memory every reprehensible word I said to you in Kent.” He pressed his lips to her temple, speaking against her skin between softly bestowed kisses. “I beg you would understand. I am no longerthat man. You have made me a better one.” He pulled away slightly and wiped away her tears with his thumbs. “I am so in love with you. If you think I could forsake you now, you have taken leave of your senses, woman.”
“Forgive me. I did not wish to think it of you—only, when you said you would act to protect your family, I?—”
“You are my family now. I meant you.”
With indescribable tenderness, he cradled her face and kissed her—without any urgency but in just such a way as left her in no doubt of his devotion. She curled her hands about his forearms and leant into him, covetous of the intimacy after her brief but awful moment of doubt. For one heavenly moment, the kiss deepened before he gently pulled away, straightened to his full height and once again enfolded her in his embrace.
“That was more in keeping with the greeting I had in mind,” he said gruffly.
She grinned into his waistcoat. “Shall we resolve all our quarrels in a similar fashion?”
“We should be in very great danger of doing nothingbutquarrelling in that case.” He leant back and regarded her with a decidedly devilish glint in his eye. “I can be very disagreeable, you know.”
“Yes, I doknow! Fortunately for you, my character is equally objectionable.”
“Then I look forward to many a pleasurable reconciliation. Cruellest, fiercest, Elizabeth.”
“Are you seeking inspiration amongst the flora, sir, or are you hoping to avoid more talk of wedding frippery?”
Bingley span around. “Mr Bennet! I, um…ah…” He ceased stammering as he became aware that his efforts to hear what was being said beyond the hermitage wall had led him to stepintothe flowerbed. He stepped out again, flapping at the thorns snagging his coat.
“Be not embarrassed, Mr Bingley. I comprehend. I, too, would rather hide in the hedgerows than hear another word on lace.”
Bingley would rather beanywherethan listen to another word on his wedding. Next to offering for the wrong woman, he could not conceive of anything more ill-advised than standing at the altar withthe right one, watching her exchange vows with somebody else. He had spent the last three days cursing Darcy’s mention of stealing people’s places at the altar, which prompted him to suggest it.
“But surely your own shrubbery would have been more convenient for the purpose?” Mr Bennet concluded.
“Pardon me?”
“You could have concealed yourself just as well in Netherfield’s bushes,” he explained, turning away and walking towards the house.
“I had no wish to hide in my bushes,” Bingley answered, trailing after him.
“I suppose I ought to be flattered by your preference for mine, then!” Mr Bennet ushered him through the hall and into the parlour, announcing, “Mr Bingley! Freshly plucked from the rose bushes.”
Bingley was made welcome with refreshments and conversation, to which he made a concerted effort to attend despite his preoccupation with the events unfolding in the garden. After a short while, however, Jane observed that he seemed somewhat distracted.
“I confess I am. Darcy is here, you see. I overheard him with Lizzy in the garden as I exited the stables. They are arguing.” He could not tell from her expression what she thought of this; thus, he added, “They seemed to be at variance over the likelihood of her being scorned by Darcy’s circle.”
“I am not overly surprised to hear it. Lizzy can be very dismissive of rank. Mr Darcy will not like it if she does not respect his station or that of his friends.”
That was precisely the sort of thing thatwouldoffend Darcy, but Bingley had not the opportunity to say as much, for Jane then went off on a bit of a tangent, questioning him about his own circle. He answered as best he could, though his mind frequently returned to the thought that, were he engaged to Elizabeth, an argument would not be the method he would choose to pass any moments of privacy in the garden.
Darcy forced himself to look away from Elizabeth’s face and consider what else he must add to his picture. The discovery of Miss Catherine’s abandoned drawing apparatus beside the bench had prompted Elizabeth to request that he sketch Pemberley. He was more thanhappy to oblige in principle, but their present attitude, opposite each other with their feet interwoven on the ground between them, made it impossible to concentrate on the task—that and the desire to kiss her again.
She entertained herself while he drew by proposing myriad reasons they might squabble in future. He was deeply dismayed to have quarrelled with her at all, but she, in her inimitable way, would be diverted, and she teased them both for their folly.
“It has been said that I give my opinion too decidedly for so young a person,” she said with a grin. “If only you had taken heed, you would not have ended up shackled to so impertinent a wife.”
“I have a very great fondness for the liveliness of your mind,” he replied, utterly enthralled and not a little aroused by the mischief flashing in her eyes. “Do I wish to know who said as much?”
His outline of the roof suffered somewhat when she leant towards him and placed a hand on—no, above—his knee and squeezed.
“I care for nobody’s opinion but yours, so it is of little matter who said it.”
Darcy doubted she intended to be so overtly provocative. Unlike him, Elizabeth was insensible to the potency of her charms. God help him the day she learnt to wield them by design. He stoically set about drawing some more columns, and after a last, devastating squeeze, she withdrew her hand.
“Speaking of your relations…” she said with excessive archness.
