“Mrs Bennet,” the gentleman interrupted her, “I assure you no thanks are necessary. I have just realised this is the first time I have visited Longbourn, and I must say it is a lovely home.It feels like you have put much heart into making it charming and comfortable.”
“Oh, how kind of you to say so!” the lady immediately replied. “Nobody usually notices my efforts. Indeed, I take pride in our house, though it breaks my heart to know that as soon as Mr Bennet dies, that tedious Mr Collins will take it.”
“Let us hope that you and Mr Bennet will enjoy your home for many, many years to come,” Mr Darcy replied. “Mr Bennet is still a young, healthy man.”
“Well, not if he gets himself wounded every time he goes to town!” Mrs Bennet uttered. “His injury has only just healed fully.”
Much to everyone’s relief, her monologue paused when Mr Bingley entered, overjoyed to see his friends had arrived. A joyful mix of voices filled the drawing room; Elizabeth, meanwhile, sat very still by the window, fingers twisting the ribbon at her wrist, every nerve alive with a mixture of dread and delight. Mr Darcy was surrounded by her noisy family, her mother overwhelming him with attentions, yet the visit proceeded with surprising smoothness. Mr Darcy, though reserved, was civil to the point of warmth; he listened attentively to Mrs Bennet’s effusions about Jane’s impending happiness, enquired politely after Mr Bennet’s health, and even exchanged a few quiet words with Mary about a volume of sermons she had been reading. Miss Darcy, blushing and soft-spoken, won every heart in the room: Kitty declared her the prettiest creature imaginable, Mary found her taste in music most refined, and even Lydia muttered that she looked like a princess in a book.
Elizabeth had few chances to speak to Mr Darcy. When he spoke to her, it was with perfect propriety, yet there was a hesitancy in his voice that had not been there in London — acaution that mirrored her own. She answered in kind: polite and inwardly nervous.
When the visit ended and the Darcys, together with Mr Bingley, took their leave, they promised to return the next day, while Mr Bingley immediately suggested a dinner at Netherfield as soon as the Gardiners joined them. Elizabeth stood at the window watching the carriage disappear down the lane, feeling oddly bereft, as though something of great significance had been left unspoken. She was glad he would stay in Hertfordshire for some time, so perhaps another opportunity would arise.
The next morning, after another sleepless night, Elizabeth rose early, slipped on her stout half-boots, and escaped into the cool air before the house was even awake. During a hot summer, the mornings were the only part of the day appropriate for exercise out of doors. The paths were familiar, the air sweet with dew and roses; yet her steps were restless, her thoughts a tumult of hope and fear.
She had not gone far when she saw him.
Mr Darcy stood at the stile where the lane to Longbourn met the footpath to Meryton, hat in hand, apparently waiting. He straightened at the sight of her; for a moment, neither moved. Then he stepped forwards, and she did the same, until they met beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, voice low, “I hoped I might find you here. Bingley mentioned your habit of walking almost every morning, and I prayed this was one of them.”
She managed a small, unsteady smile, her cheeks burning. “Oh, so you just waited…I am glad you did. I…I am happy you came to Netherfield at last.”
“I would have come sooner,” he answered quietly, “had I been certain of my welcome. I did not want to impose my presence on anyone, especially you…”
“You were missed,” she said simply, and the words hung between them like a confession. “Why would you assume your presence would be an imposition?”
“You know why. I wished to allow time for everyone to calm down, and for feelings like gratitude to vanish.”
“Gratitude will never vanish, Mr Darcy. What you have done for my family cannot be forgotten. However, it will not be expressed again if you so prefer. And it is certainly not the main reason you were missed.”
He drew a careful breath, looking at her intently. “I hoped so. There is something that I avoided discussing that day, in your uncle’s house, because I felt it was too soon. Those feelings you mentioned that day — and said you did not deserve — they are still there. Equally strong. They were born against my will last year and grew stronger while I heartily desired them to fade. I have tried to master them. I have failed.”
Elizabeth’s heart beat so violently she feared he must hear it. She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted, unable for a moment to speak.
He took another step closer. “I beg you will speak honestly. If you wish me to remain silent on this subject, I shall do so. But if there is the smallest chance that you do not wish me silent—”
“I never wanted anything more,” she whispered, “than for you not to be silent.”
Her words seemed to release something in him. The rigid lines of his shoulders softened; his dark eyes searched herswith a mixture of hope and trepidation. He spoke then with a tenderness she had never heard from him before — low, halting, every word weighted with feeling.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he began, “I have loved you ardently, against every objection of reason and pride, for many months. I loved you when I arrogantly assumed you returned my regard. I loved you when I thought your opinion of me was the lowest, and all hope was lost. And I love you now, wondering what you think, what you feel.”
“I once foolishly misjudged you, Mr Darcy, but that was cleared up by your letter, as well as by my sense and sensibility. Once you opened my eyes to my folly, I accepted my wrong and regret it deeply.”
“Did you? So you…Would it be possible… Could you find it in your heart to accept me one day? Not today, if it is too soon… I can be patient. I can wait until you are ready to do me the honour of becoming my wife.”
Her emotions were so deep that her voice and her hands trembled when she took another step and said, “You may be willing to be patient and wait, Mr Darcy, but I am not.”
He stared at her, doubtful, his handsome face brightened by the morning sun and his own joy.
He reached for her hand — tentative at first, then firmly — and held it in his own, silent, as he could not find the words, so she helped him, smiling tearfully.
“Mr Darcy, in the last months, some powerful, ardent feelings that I never imagined could exist have grown inside me and made me act impulsively and imprudently. So before you have time to repeat your marriage proposal, you must allow me to tell you how utterly happy I am to become your wife.”
For one suspended moment they simply looked at each other, deeply into each other’s souls, exchanging smiles of amazement and delight. Then he drew her gently into his arms. She went willingly, rising on her toes to meet him. Their lips touched — softly, reverently, a tender kiss promising everything yet to come.
When at last they drew apart, both were smiling through tears. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing her name.
