Chapter Fourteen: The Frostbitten Romance
The twenty-eighth of December brought a thaw to London, turning the pristine snow into slush, but inside the drawing room of Gracechurch Street, the atmosphere was nothing short of vernal.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning. The tea tray had been deployed. And the "Cheapside Invasion Force," as Robert had christened them, had arrived.
This time, however, they did not come empty-handed. Robert carried a box of chocolates from a French confectioner in Bond Street that was large enough to house a small cat. Darcy carried a bouquet of winter lilies that must have cost a king's ransom.
"Sweets for the sweet," Robert announced, presenting the box to Jane with a flourish. "And for the rest of us, sustenance to survive the rigours of polite conversation."
"You are incorrigible, my Lord," Miss Bennet smiled, accepting the gift.
"I am consistently incorrigible. It is my best quality."
Darcy approached Elizabeth. He did not have Robert's theatrical flair, but the look in his eyes—warm, steady and open—was far more potent than any speech.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said, offering the flowers. "Lilies. I recall you admiring them in the conservatory at Netherfield."
Elizabeth took them, burying her nose in the fragrant petals. "You have a dangerous memory, Mr Darcy. One must be careful what one admires in your presence, lest it appear on one's doorstep the next morning."
"I aim to be attentive."
"You succeed." She looked up at him. "Though I confess, I am surprised to see you both so spirited. Wasn't there a battle yesterday?"
"The Battle of Grosvenor Square was merely a skirmish," Darcy said, a small smile touching his lips. "The real campaign was St Stephen's Day."
"St Stephen's Day?" Elizabeth led him to the sofa, away from Robert, who was currently trying to teach Henry how to juggle truffles. "I thought you were resting after the Christmas festivities."
"We were not resting," Darcy admitted. He sat beside her, leaning in slightly. "Robert and I we took a ride. A rather long one."
"In the snow? Where to?"
"Hertfordshire."
Elizabeth froze. The teacup paused halfway to her lips. "Hertfordshire? Whatever for?"
"To see your father."
The cup rattled in its saucer as she set it down. She stared at him. "You went to Longbourn? In the freezing cold?"
"We did. Robert felt his nose might fall off, and I believe my horse has not forgiven me, but it was necessary." Darcy's expression turned serious. "With Lady Catherine arriving, I needed to know. I needed to know that if I stood against my family, I had the support of yours. I needed his permission to court you properly. Openly."
"And?" Elizabeth whispered. "What did he say?"
"He said we were mad," Darcy smiled. "He said you were stubborn. And he said that if we wished to marry his daughters, you must ask his blessing yourselves. He would not trade his daughters like cattle."
"That sounds like Papa."
"He gave us leave to court, though. He gave us his permission to try."
Elizabeth looked at this proud man, who hated the cold and valued his dignity, riding through a frozen landscape just to ensure he did right by her father.
"You are a singular man, Fitzwilliam Darcy," she said softly.
"I am a man who knows what he wants," he replied. "And I am done waiting for the weather to improve before I pursue it."
Across the room, Robert threw a truffle into the air and caught it in his mouth. Miss Bennet clapped.
"We have permission!" Robert announced to the room, chewing happily. "Mr Bennet has sanctioned my madness! Jane, prepare yourself. I intend to be relentless."
