The admission filled Elizabeth with glee. He had missed her. “I missed you, as well.” She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Let us speak plainly, sir. I have found that which I sought, and I am ready to move forward.”
He halted, releasing her arm, eyes fixed upon her. “Elizabeth—are you saying what I think you are?” The earnest hope in his countenance transformed him, lending a boyish charm to his already handsome features.
“I am,” she said simply. “Mr Darcy, if you still wish it, I believe a proper courtship is in order.”
Mischief glimmered in his eyes. “Only a courtship? How very disappointing.” Drawing her into his arms, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “Pray, tell me we shall not wait long before we marry.”
She looked up at him, her heart too full for restraint. “Then you may consider us engaged, sir, if it makes you more content. I am to remain in Kent until the end of April. Elinor and I shall return to Longbourn for Jane and Mr Bingley’s wedding, and afterwards to Margate. I know you dislike the sea—”
“On the contrary, I adore it. Let me tell you a story.” Offering his arm once more, he led her along the path whilst he spoke of his sister and all she had endured since the previous summer, concluding with Georgiana’s gradual recovery. “So the sea no longer holds its terrors. It controls me no longer; rather I hope it shall become a place of renewal. May I come with you to Margate?”
Resting her head lightly against his shoulder, she sighed in satisfaction. “Of course. We shall have a marvellous time.”
Together, they would make new memories. She no longer held a fear of the future. The past no longer ruled her; its lessons had shaped her strength, not her sorrow. And with Darcy beside her, she felt assured that all she had borne had led her here.
Chapter Forty
30 March 1812
Hunsford
Darcy
“Whathasyouinsuch a dither?” Colonel Fitzwilliam strode into Darcy’s chamber and dropped into a chair, slinging one leg over its arm with careless ease. “I have never seen you so eager to flee Rosings. It cannot be our aunt—she is as she ever was. Tell me, have you once more disabused her of the notion that you will marry Anne?” His laugh rang through the room. “I wonder how our aunt would react if she knew I mean to pursue her daughter.”
Darcy turned sharply. Surprise suffused his expression, and his brows rose. “You and Anne? Can you be happy in such a situation?”
In truth, Darcy did not know his younger cousin well. He had always avoided her on principle, lest he encourage her mother’s designs. Richard, however, had spent more time at Rosings and knew Anne better.
“Happiness is where we seek it.” Richard gave a careless shrug. “Anne is intelligent. Her frailty is nothing but our aunt’s invention—an old fancy that a true lady must be delicate to be genteel.”
Darcy scoffed. “Lady Catherine could never ascribe such delicacy to herself.” He adjusted his cravat before the looking glass, considering hisreflection with narrowed eyes. His aunt, once handsome, had long since grown coarse; the habitual scowl did her no favours. “If you wish to pursue Anne, I shall not stand in your way.”
“I did not expect you would.” Rising, Richard crossed the carpet to stand behind him. Their gazes met in the glass. “Now tell me—where are you forever vanishing to? Every afternoon you disappear for hours, only to return grinning like a fool. I would wager our aunt has noticed your strange behaviour. Nothing within fifty miles escapes her notice.” A knowing smirk touched his mouth, and he folded his arms. “Have you fallen for the milkmaid?”
Darcy frowned before a hint of a smile betrayed him. “I have been calling at the parsonage.” Richard’s head jerked back. “The parsonage!” He gave a low whistle. “You sly dog. You are courting Mrs Fiennes—under Lady Catherine’s very nose. Bravo Darcy. Did you keep it from me to protect your prize? You know I must marry a fortune.”
Richard had accompanied him there once, the day after their arrival. His cousin had been pleased to renew the acquaintance, slight as it was. He remembered meeting Elizabeth years before and said as much to the lady. She replied in kind, reminding him about her friendship with the former Lady Westland and his own mother, Lady Matlock. Apparently, Elizabeth still corresponded occasionally with the latter.
“Mrs Fiennes is worth more than her fortune, Richard. Her husband left her and their daughter well provided for—the least he could do after his treatment of her. You know what sort of man he was—it was you who warned me to be on my guard years ago. It has taken months for Elizabeth to be ready to receive my addresses. I shall court her properly, as she deserves, for she was never courted before her first marriage.”
The colonel’s expression sobered. “Aye, I remember the man—a true snake. I should rejoice at his death, but—”
“I know precisely what you mean.” Darcy’s fingers paused on the fob chain of his watch. Elizabeth’s letter returned to mind, its restraint concealing what he suspected had likely been far worse. Could he have punished the dead, he would have done so without hesitation. “She is strong to have survived his abuse,” he murmured, fastening his waistcoat.
Richard pressed his cousin’s shoulder. “I am truly glad for you both. And if all goes as you hope, perhaps I may soon win Anne myself. I had best begin my wooing without delay.”
“Have a care not to alert our aunt.” Darcy straightened his cuffs with deliberate precision. “You and I will not have long before she discovers all.”
Richard’s laugh rang out, light and careless. “What a fracas that will raise! I hope to witness the tirade myself when she learns her plans are undone.” He turned towards the door. “I am off. Anne is strolling in the garden; I believe I shall join her.” He left the room, leaving Darcy to finish his preparations.
Brisby had secured a basket from the kitchens, filled with every delicacy fit for a picnic. Darcy meant to take Elizabeth to his favourite place that day. The path thither was little used, but he had no doubt she would relish the challenge. Satisfied at last with his appearance, he reached for a coat cut loosely enough for him to don without assistance. His valet would meet him at a side door with the basket for their expedition.
Elizabeth awaited him at the parsonage door, a beaming smile lighting her face. “Elinor has bid me give you her regards,” she said in greeting. “She has also requested to accompany us on the morrow.”
“I should be pleased to have her with us.” Indeed, the thought warmed him; he had grown fond of the little sprite. When he and Elizabeth married, Elinor would be his daughter in truth. He meant to adopt her, to give her his name—if Elizabeth approved.
She slipped her hand through his arm, and they set off down the lane together. A short distance away from the parsonage, he paused beside a small gap in the hedge and drew the branches aside, revealing a narrow footpath. “After you, my lady.” He delivered the phrase with regal solemnity, which earned him a delighted laugh. She stepped through, and he followed. The path beyond lay dim beneath an arch of trees, their branches interlaced so thickly that sunlight scarcely pierced the canopy.
