“My uncle was disinclined to come, your ladyship. I understand his previous call was not welcomed.” Again, she looked directly at Darcy. “And I know very few men willing to have their honour questioned more than once without any resentment at all. That would require a fineness of character that very few people possess.”
Was this meant for him? The wild swing of Darcy’s emotions as they veered between despair and hope, anger and elation, exacerbated his struggle to think clearly, and he took too long to acknowledge her. His uncle began opining vociferously and not very politely about the sensibilities of the middle classes, and Elizabeth looked down at the floor, concealing her expression from the room.
“I think we had better go, Lizzy,” her aunt said to her quietly.
“No!” Darcy pushed away from the chair to go to her, but it slid sideways an inch and unbalanced him.
“Brother!” exclaimed Georgiana, rushing to his side.
“Darcy, sit down, for God’s sake,” said Ladbroke on his other.
“Someone send for Mr Farnham.”
“I do not need Farnham, I am perfectly well,” Darcy mouthed, pushing his sister gently but firmly away from him.
“Pardon?”
“What did you say?”
They all looked at Elizabeth for a translation. She did not give one. Instead she told him, “You had better do as they say, sir. You look very pale.”
“I am well!”
She raised an eyebrow. “Not as well as you wish to be. It obviously pained you a great deal when you bowed just now. And should you let go of that chair, I think it very likely you would end up on the floor.”
“And you being here is tiring him even more,” said Lady Matlock, shamelessly pouncing on Elizabeth’s observations. “We thank you for coming, but it will be for the best if you leave now.”
Darcy tried to shake his head but something beneath his bandages pulled taut, and he winced in pain. Elizabeth mistook it for something else, though, for her face fell, and after earnestly but succinctly wishing him good health and happiness, she turned to go.
“No! Do not leave!” Darcy mouthed, but she was walking towards the door and did not see.
“What reason has she to stay, Darcy?” said Ladbroke under his breath. “She came to see how you are, she has seen, now she can go. There really is no need for you ever to see her again.”
So began a trickle of voices that soon rose to a cacophonyof opinions seemingly designed to chase Elizabeth from his life.
“Would you be good enough to take us home, Mr Bingley?”
“I think that would be for the best.”
“There is no need to call again, Miss Bennet. He will be well taken care of.”
“Go to bed, Darcy. We will admit no more nuisance callers.”
Darcy banged his fist on the table so hard it jumped sideways. The room fell silent and all eyes turned to him, including Elizabeth’s, upon which he fixed his own. “Pray, do not leave on account of my family. They do not speak for me,” he mouthed.
She shook her head and looked unbearably sad. “Mr Darcy, that situation is no different than you have ever given me reason to expect—and I am sorry to say, it does not trouble me half as much as I am sure it ought to. It is not their opinion of me I care about.”
She began to turn away again, and Darcy felt a greater panic at the prospect of losing her than ever he had felt at not being able to draw breath into his lungs. He filled them now, to their very limit, and half forced, half choked the air out as he compelled himself to speak. “Then stay because I love you!”
A collective gasp sucked all the air from the room, and for a brief moment, Elizabeth and he were the only ones in it, staring at each other on the precipice of something yet to be defined. Then the vacuum burst, and sound rushed back in as an uproar of celebrations and remonstrations erupted around them. Fitzwilliam slapped him on the shoulder, jarring his neck, and congratulated him on the return of his voice—sentiments echoed by Bingley. Georgiana burst into tears. LadyMatlock declared he must still be feverish, instructed everybody to ignore his delirious raptures, and ordered him to bed. Lady Catherine railed in outrage at his betrayal, her daughter’s disappointed hopes, and the whole family’s certain ruin. Lord Matlock groaned. Ladbroke laughed.
It all sank to nothing in Darcy’s awareness. He looked only at Elizabeth, who stared back at him, wide-eyed and, in contrast to everybody else, conspicuously silent. Fortified by trepidation and hope in equal measure, he approached her and took both her hands in his. His second attempt to speak produced nothing more than a painful rasp, but he had no qualms in reverting to mute speech, confident he would be understood. “I love you, Elizabeth. I have been in love with you for a very long time, but never have I felt it more deeply than during our time together this week.”
“What is it you are saying, Darcy? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is,” Lady Catherine demanded.
Darcy ignored her, detesting that anybody should obtrude upon this moment, but too afraid of letting Elizabeth leave before she comprehended his feelings to delay it. “You saved me in more ways than one. You taught me what I need to do and who I need to become to be worthy of you. I beg you would allow me that honour. Elizabeth, will you make me the happiest of men and consent to be my wife?”
He waited in wretched suspense for her to answer, but rather than speak, she pulled her hands from his. His heart contracted painfully as he watched them withdraw. Then it faltered and began to race as she slowly but very deliberately touched the finger of one hand to the back of her other. He looked up to encounter her eyes and discovered her face diffused with heartfelt delight to match that which threatenedto overwhelm him. He reclaimed both her hands and brought them to his lips. “Thank you.”
