The sound of her voice sent a thrill through his very being. “Yes,” he said, thrusting them at her like a green lad and then feeling equal parts foolish and lustful as she twinkled up at him from amongst the blossoms.
Mrs Gardiner, whom he had hardly noticed upon bringing Elizabeth to Gracechurch Street, greeted him graciously, took the flowers from Elizabeth, and made some excuse about putting them in water. Unbelievably, within minutes of his arrival, he was alone with the woman he loved.
“My aunt says you require fifty thousand to marry me,” he said.
“Did she?” Elizabeth raised a brow. “And how did you respond?”
“I told her I would write the bank draft at once, if I thought you would take it—but as you are worth a hundred times the amount, I did not believe I could get you so cheaply.”
She grinned, and warmth flooded him.
“Such areasonableanswer to give. Although I suppose it did not please your aunt.”
“I could not care a farthing for her opinions.” He could wait no longer, and foolish and gauche or not, he dropped to one knee. “Elizabeth, my love, keeping away from you to assure that your hand would not be forced has made for the longest two weeks of my life. Please say you will marryme, and that this is the last separation we must ever endure.”
To his surprise, she, too, went down on her knees before him. “I am not nearly so honourable as you,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I shall endanger your reputation, thoroughly, so that you shall have to marry me immediately.” She moved her lips to his.
She was far too innocent to know exactly what her words meant, he realised, and happily returned her kiss; what she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm and he quickly realised he could be carried away, right here in her aunt’s parlour unless he allowed his better self to governat once. Carefully he stood, drawing her up with him, struggling to contain his own passion.
“I missed you,” she murmured against his lips, and his heart swelled.
“I shall get a licence,” he said.
“I shall write to Papa today. He can give any permission necessary.” She bit her lip, looking up at him with a little hesitation. “Did you know that Mr Bingley is returned to Netherfield? He has evidently asked for Jane’s hand.”
“I knew. I was not certain your sister wished to give her hand to Bingley, but I told him that she is a woman of integrity and he must be very certain of her feelings before pressing.” He smiled. “I did hope he would press, however. I was devious, you see. I thought perhaps if your sister became attached to my good friend, you might think better of my own suit.”
She smiled back. “I do like how you think, Mr Darcy. However, Jane’s feelings for Mr Bingley have never been in doubt. Cannot you tell a woman in love when you see one?”
He brushed her cheek with one hand. “I am afraid to hope. We did not begin—Idid not begin well.”
“It is fortunate, then, that we are to be given more than one beginning,” she replied softly.
EPILOGUE
It was a wedding breakfast to end all wedding breakfasts.
“Mama has outdone herself,” Elizabeth whispered. Her husband smiled. He truly followed a gentleman’s code, and when it came to her mother, he usually had very little to say. He watched Mrs Bennet like a hawk, however, not trusting her judgment, let alone her table. He had sworn that he would taste every dish before Elizabeth was allowed to consume it, for the rest of her mother’s natural life.
“She will never do such a thing again,” she murmured, as he cut a small sliver off her honey cake.
“She will not, lest she be put on the next sailing bound for New South Wales,” he murmured back. Yet, he ate the bite anyway and nodded his approval. “I do it so sheknowsI am always watching her. I never want her to be toocomfortable around me, so that you may be always comfortable around her.”
Elizabeth smiled, and under the table, well-hidden by the tablecloth, squeezed his knee. Because she could—and never tired of teasing him, she moved her hand a bit higher.
“Careful, my girl,” he warned. “However safe you think yourself from your mother, there are other dangers in the room.”
“I am not afraid of you,” she grinned.
Her husband did not return her smile, but only draped a casual arm over the back of her chair.
“How much longer is the performance?” he leant close to ask.
Elizabeth glanced around. Her mother had actually knocked down a wall between the dining room and the breakfast parlour in order to create one huge dining hall, complete with a dais at one end upon which she had arranged the seating for her most illustrious guests. It really did appear as though she and Darcy were on a stage.
“They will just have the toasts now,” she whispered back. “If everyone is as brief as my father’s will be, not long.”
But it was Bingley who stood, rather than Mr Bennet, tapping his crystal flute with an attention-getting chime.
