He dropped his hand and took hers instead. Then, before she had time to catch her breath, he sank to one knee. “Dearest Elizabeth, I love you—most ardently. I did not come to Hertfordshire expecting to fall in love, but I have. Your beauty and grace are surpassed only by your wit, vivacity, compassion, and zeal for life. My heart is yours and will belong to no other. Please, I beg you—end my agony and consent to be my wife.”
Her heart leapt. Had she not longed for this moment? Had she not rehearsed her reply again and again, all the while hoping he might overcome the strange circumstances of her life and love her still?
“I love you, too,” she said with quiet intensity. “And I long to accept your offer. But first, I must acquaint you with my…history, I suppose, is the best word.”
His brow furrowed. “Shall we sit?” he suggested. “If you are cold, we might go to the library.”
“I would prefer not to be overheard. My story…well, it is best not shared widely.” She moved to a stone bench a short distance from the door and sat. He followed, keeping hold of her hand.
“Speak, my dear. I am anxious.”
Elizabeth drew a deep breath. “I was not born a Bennet,” she said simply. “No, do not speak. Let me tell you everything, and then you may ask questions.”
Darcy remained silent as she recounted all that she knew of her past. When she finished, she added softly, “I have tried to remember more, but the recollections are just out of reach.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Slowly, he released her hand, and she felt the loss at once, fearing the worst. But then his hand rose to her temple, to the place where the faint scar lay concealed in her hair. He brushed the strands aside and touched it lightly.
“It is difficult to see when my hair is up,” she said nervously. “The maids have learned to disguise it as best as they can.”
“They do admirable work. I had no idea it was there—and I know your appearance very well.” She glanced up and caught the teasing glint in his eyes.
“Then…?” she asked, hardly daring to finish the question.
“This changes nothing,” he said fervently. “I care not for fortune and connection—not any longer. You are a Bennet in every way that matters, and they are your family. That is more than enough for me.”
“Truly? Oh, Fitzwilliam, I was so afraid. But I could not begin our lifebased on a lie. I knew I would rather lose you forever than conceal the truth.”
He raised his hands to her cheeks, and before she could speak again, he kissed her. Her first kiss was everything she had ever dreamed: tender, gentle, exhilarating. When he drew back, she felt a pang of regret—and a secret wish that he might kiss her once more.
“May I have your answer?” he asked solemnly. “Do I write to my solicitor tomorrow, or no?”
“Yes!” she cried, laughing as she threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, sir, I shall marry you.”
A sound interrupted them, and they quickly drew apart. Mr. Bingley stepped onto the terrace, Jane on his arm. At the sight of the pair on the bench, he paused and frowned—though it was only mock disapproval.
“I believe Miss Elizabeth ought to be returned to her mother,” he said seriously. “I have something to discuss with Miss Bennet.”
Darcy rose and assisted Elizabeth to her feet. “We shall leave you to it,” he replied with equal gravity. As they walked inside, he leaned down and whispered, “At least this time, we were not interrupted.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “It was a near thing. Let us give them their moment. We can announce our engagement tomorrow.”
Darcy agreed. Just before the dancing resumed, Mr. Bingley and Jane shared their own happy news. Their betrothal was met with cheers and heartfelt congratulations. Mrs. Bennet dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Bennet,” she sighed, “God has been very good to us.”
“He has indeed, my dear,” her husband replied warmly. “They will be very happy. Of that I am certain.”
By the time the Bennet’s carriage rumbled off toward Longbourn, the sky had begun to lighten. The mood within was subdued, but content. Everyone was exhausted, and Jane, yawning frequently, could not suppress her smile.
Elizabeth fell into bed, dreaming of her own happiness. Soon, her own story would begin—a life with a gentleman who not only offered her security despite her uncertain past, but who loved her deeply. And she loved him.Life, she thought drowsily,could not be any more perfect.
Darcy
Darcy slept fitfully. Snippets of conversation mingled with Elizabeth’s story about her origins, drifting through his dreams. As his mind worked over the fragments, something shifted into place. He sat up abruptly, gasping for breath.
“Not a Bennet!” he cried. “Elizabeth is not a Bennet.” Did Bingley have it right all along?
The sun was already high, and one glance at the clock confirmed it was pasteleven. He knew at once that he could not delay. Bingley needed to hear this.
Without bothering to dress, he threw on his banyan and slippers and left his chamber in haste. Crossing to the family wing, he banged on Bingley’s door. “Open the door, Charles!” he called urgently. “I need to speak with you at once.”
