With treasures so lovely, yet none half so dear,
As the vow that I whisper for only you to hear.
When she looked up, he was no longer smiling; his features were serious now, his eyes searching hers.
“Elizabeth, these last twelve days have been the most meaningful of my life. I dared to hope that you might guess the heart behind them. But hope is not enough. I must speak plainly.”
She grew utterly still. The roses trembled in her hands.
Darcy steadied himself, his eyes fixed on hers, the winter air between them suspended, as though time itself had ceased its course.
“I love you. With all that I am. And I know—I know—that your love cannot be bought with wealth or flattery. Not at all. You are not a woman to be impressed by gold or titles, nor swayed by grand houses or fine carriages.”
Elizabeth’s lips parted, but she said nothing. She felt overcome, as though every nerve had awakened at once.
He continued, stepping closer, his gloved hands open at his sides as though offering all he had. “You value what isreal. A man’s honor. His principles. The content of his character.” He paused, his gaze earnest. “That is why I chose each gift not for its worth, but for what it might convey. The meaning behind the object—the intention—was what I wished you would see.”
Elizabeth blinked, her composure wavering as her mind traveled backward. Yes. Shehadseen meaning. The books, thecombs, the locket, the hairpins… She had wondered, suspected. Her eyes swam with rising tears as she gave a slow, silent nod.
Darcy took another step, the snow crunching beneath his boots.
His words came quieter now, but she knew he was no less certain.
“I love you, my dearest Elizabeth. And if you can love me in return, even a little…I beg you to end my suffering and consent to be my wife.”
He swallowed visibly, his features taut with the effort of restraint.“But if you cannot…if your affections are already set against me, then still—forever—I shall love you. For the rest of my life, I shall love only you. There is no one else, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. There could never be another. You have my heart, my devotion, which I now offer freely, and without condition.”
Elizabeth could no longer meet his eyes without her own feelings welling within her. Her throat tightened. She pressed her fingers to the roses in the box, as though they might anchor her. His gifts were not trifles; they were pieces of him—of his very soul. And he had waited. Hoped. Believed in her.
She looked up, and in his eyes dwelt a tenderness that banished the last of her trepidation. Elizabeth held the box of silk roses close, as if they could steady the tumult within her. Her eyes met his once more—so open, so achingly sincere—and for a moment, she simply drank in the sight of him. The man before her was not the proud, distant gentleman who had once slighted her at a ball. He was something else entirely—something more.
“Ididsee the meaning in your gifts.” The words slipped forth, scarcely more than a whisper. “Each one seemed to speak—to say something you dared not put into words. I saw your thoughtfulness in them…your care. But more than that, I have seen the change in you.”
Darcy stilled, every nerve taut, intent upon her every word.
“You are no longer the man who looked down his nose at a country assembly. You have become someone kind. Considerate. Humble and welcoming.” Her voice wavered. “You are a man worth knowing…and worth loving.”
She watched the tension in his frame break, his shoulders lowering as though her words had lifted a great weight. For a moment his lips parted, yet no words came to answer what hers had just bestowed.
“I did not know for certain my admirer was you. But Iwantedit to be you.” Her eyes brimmed with tears she refused to shed. “Iprayedit was you.”
Darcy stepped forward then, as if he could bear no more distance between them. The box of roses pressed lightly between them as he lifted one gloved hand to her face, the leather cool against her skin. His fingers brushed her cheek with reverent care, trailing down to her chin. He tilted her face up to his, and with exquisite gentleness, lowered his lips to hers in a kiss that spoke all he could not say.
It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises. Tender. Chaste. Filled with meaning. The roses did not so much as bend between them.
When he drew back, her eyes fluttered open to find his gaze still fixed upon her—intense, searching, full of awe.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, her lips tingling with the echo of his. “I will marry you. How could I not after such exquisite delight?”
Darcy’s laughter rumbled low in his chest, rich with relief and joy. She gently set the box of roses on a nearby tree stump, and he gathered her into his arms. She pressed her cheek to the fine wool of his coat, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and cedar, a fragrance she would forever after associate with home.
His arms tightened around her, steady and sure.
“Shall I speak with your father?” He pulled away just enough to look at her once more.
Elizabeth smiled up at him, her eyes bright. “Yes. But I warn you—informing my mother might provoke a fit of nerves. Three daughters engaged at once is enough to unbalance even the steadiest of women.”
Amusement lit his eyes. “Perhaps Bingley and your sister would not mind sharing their wedding day,” he said with mock solemnity. “I find I have not the desire to prolong my agony.”
