He kissed her once more, tasting both joy and wonder. “I have not asked you properly—not as I ought,” he murmured when they drew apart. His brow still touched hers. “May I?”
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw. A radiant smile graced her lips as she whispered, her voice scarcely heard above the breeze. “Yes. Yes, you may.”
Darcy’s breath came unsteadily; his heart burst with triumph.At last.Taking her hands, he lifted them to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss on her fingers before sinking to one knee before her. He gazed up at the woman who had mastered his heart in every possible way—who had made him better, who had made him whole.
“Elizabeth,” he began, his voice low but steady, rich with all the feeling he could not disguise, “from the moment we renewed our acquaintance in Hertfordshire, I was undone. Even before that time, I had dreamt of finding a lady such as you. None amongst the fashionable world—no pearl of the ton—could compare to your wit, your grace, your integrity. Knowing you transformed me. There is no other woman in this world who could match me so well, none who could set my soul aflame with but a look, a word, or your delightful laugh.”
He watched as tears shone in her eyes, though her smile never wavered.
“I love you, my beautiful Elizabeth, more than I ever believed the heart capable of feeling. You are my joy, my comfort, my truest and dearest friend. Marry me, and I shall spend my life proving that no man ever cherished his wife more deeply, nor honoured and respected her more faithfully. I shall be father to sweet Elinor and to more children who will bless our lives. Say that you will—end my agony at last—and consent to be my partner, my love, and the first lady of my heart.”
He saw the tears she had held back slip free and trace a path down her cheeks. Reaching for him, she clasped his hands tightly in her own. “There is nothing in this world I desire more,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, a thousand times, yes.”
Relief and elation filled him, and he swept her into his arms, capturing her lips. As he kissed her, the gentle breeze moved softly through the trees, and the brook murmured its unending song. In that secluded glen, with the woman he loved in his embrace, Darcy knew perfect contentment. That she, who once swore she would never again lose her freedom to marriage, should now accept his hand seemed a happiness too great to be believed.
Chapter Forty-One
April 1812
Hunsford
Darcy
“Aword,ifyouwill, Mr Darcy.” Mr Collins stood a little distant from his relations. The party from the parsonage had come to dine, and Darcy, ever courteous, had accompanied them to the door when it was time to depart, leaving his aunt and cousins in the drawing room.
He inclined his head and led the way into a small anteroom just off the receiving hall, the one commonly used by ladies to change from their slippers back to shoes or boots before travelling. “What is it you wish to discuss, sir?”
The parson clasped his hands behind his back, his countenance grave. “Your intentions towards my cousin. I am well aware she is a widow and perfectly able to decide for herself, but she is a guest of my house, and I will not see harm come to her.”
Darcy smiled. “You may rest easy, Collins. My intentions are honourable, I assure you. Your concern does you credit. Elizabeth has accepted my proposal. For the present, we keep the matter private—my aunt’s discovery would invite calamity.”
Mr Collins blanched. “Lady Catherine wishes you to marry her daughter. Sir, if she learns of this there may be consequences for my wife and me.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Yet I shall face whatever comes.”
“Be at peace. My cousin will assume control of her estate when she attains five-and-twenty in June. Should Lady Catherine’s tirades become insufferable, you and Mrs Collins will be welcome guests at Pemberley for a few months if you wish it. If all proceeds as I hope, Elizabeth and I shall be married before my aunt suspects a thing.”
He doubted his aunt’s ignorance would last; her sharp eye missed little. During his stay, he had not devoted much time to her company, save for meals and a few evening obligations. His days were given to estate matters—or to Elizabeth.
Mr Collins murmured his thanks and executed a hasty bow before retreating, muttering something of having recovered his wife’s misplaced handkerchief.
A clever ruse,Darcy thought with wry admiration. When the sound of farewells and departing wheels had faded, he quitted the anteroom and, with some resignation, returned to the drawing room, prepared to tolerate whatever monologue his aunt had reserved for the remainder of the evening.
Darcy strode into the drawing room, schooling his features into polite indifference. Lady Catherine, enthroned near the fire, turned her sharp gaze on him the instant he crossed the threshold.
“Nephew, where have you been?” Her fan snapped shut with an irritable flick. “Anne has been obliged to entertain Fitzwilliam while you dallied with our guests.”
Darcy inclined his head with calm politeness. “I had matters to attend, Aunt. Mr Collins wished to express his gratitude for your generosity; I could not be discourteous and rush him.”
Lady Catherine sniffed, unimpressed. “The man is too foolish to be of any real use. His wife, at least, possesses a sensible nature—though she clearly lacked refinement before her marriage. I shall see what can be done to improve her manners while she resides in the neighbourhood.”
Her disparagement of Mrs Collins rankled him, though he concealed it. Such remarks were Lady Catherine’s habit when thwarted, and he suspected her resentment arose from the couple’s growing independence.
From the corner of his eye, he observed Richard and Anne seated together on a settee. A brief gleam of amusement crossed his cousin’s features before good breeding reclaimed it. Anne, unusually animated, folded and refolded a lace handkerchief, a delicate flush tinting her cheeks.
Lady Catherine, oblivious to all but her own designs, straightened and fixed him with a look that might have pierced stone. “You waste your time on inconsequential trifles, Darcy. Your duty lies here with your family. It is high time you turned your mind to serious concerns.” Her hand swept towards Anne with an air of significance. “You know what is expected. The arrangement formed by your mother and me is the logical course—the only course—and I shall brook no disappointment.”
Darcy met his aunt’s stare without flinching. “We have discussed this before, Aunt,” he replied evenly. “And as I told you in my last letter, I shall marry only where I may find my future happiness. A man may have many obligations, yet the most personal choice of a wife must be guided by inclination as well as prudence.”
Her lips thinned to a hard line. “You speak as if sentiment outweighs duty! Such notions are dangerous. Anne is well-born, well-dowered, and entirely suited to your station. She will preserve Pemberley’s honour and maintain the integrity of your lineage.”
