“Just as you believe that because you enjoy your library, everyone should prefer a book to any other activity. Do not scowl at me. You may always be buying books, but I know I am an idle fellow. Despite that, I remain a happy man.”
“There are many pleasant ways by which one can pass one’s time,” Jane interjected, likely afraid their disagreement might become a dispute. “I see no reason for us to attempt to place a higher value on another’s preference for society or reading.”
The group had ceased walking as their conversation grew more animated. The bottom of the hill, where they remained, was a cheerful spot, and Jane found a comfortable seat for herself on the step of a stile. Elizabeth could see that her sister was rather tired and was glad to sit. She suggested that Mr Bingley and Jane remain while she and Fitzwilliam continued to the summit to see the view. Jane gave Elizabeth a look that spoke her distress at such premeditation to leave her alone with Mr Bingley, but she conceded to remain since she was too tired to press on.
Fitzwilliam offered his arm to Elizabeth, and they ascended at a leisurely pace. The increasing incline of the hill concealed their view of the prospect, and as the path looped round Oakham Mount, they were likewise obstructed from view. Their path was shaded with bright green trees and brightened by blooming flowers, and the relative privacy brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips.
“What will you think of me when I tell you how very pleased I am to have your company all to myself?” Elizabeth said with a mischievous smile when they were out of earshot of the others. “I do hope that I have other redeeming qualities that will outweigh my scandalising boldness.”
“I think you are intelligent, lively, attractive, and clever,” he spoke slowly and deliberately, “but with a tendency to judge on first impressions.”
Elizabeth laughed at this picture of herself. “That might have one time been true of both of us, my love, but we have both improved in civility since then. We are very well suited.”
“I had always thought so, but my preference for reading to cards or for conversation to dancing is no secret. I hope my vivacious wife will not become unhappy or jaded.”
She heard the faintest hint of disquiet in his usual confident tone. “I am well-read enough to be a companionable wife to you, and I expect many lively discussions to pass the cold Derbyshire winter evenings. I care little for cards, but perhaps you might one day ask me again to dance a reel.”
Fitzwilliam smiled mildly, but Elizabeth wanted to further assure him of her confidence in their compatibility.
“Where my opinions coincide with yours, I shall delight in your good sense. Where they differ, I shall respect the uncompromising nature of your defence of that difference.” She saw his tight expression relax. “I am confident we shall be happy together.”
It did not take them long to reach the summit. She felt the outlook’s exhilarating influence and looked at Fitzwilliam to assess his response to the view. He was not gazing toward the horizon but was fixed on her.
“You have very fine eyes. I am unsure whether I have told you before, but they are so full of soul and intelligence, bright and clear.” His warm, steadfast gaze was enticing. “I wish—I wish I could show…” Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I want you to know how much I feel for you.”
Elizabeth felt so much for this passionate man who tried so hard to express his love. A quickened pulse and a desire to pull him as near as she could were her immediate responses to this confession. They were unfamiliar feelings, but she was exceedingly and impatiently interested in exploring them further if only he was as willing as she was.
Fitzwilliam’s gaze fell from her eyes to her throat. He reached out his fingertips to trace her skin along the lace that trimmed the collar of her gown. It dipped no lower than her collarbone, but the intimacy of the act nearly overwhelmed her. He ran his fingers slowly across her skin from one side of her neck, down to her throat, and then back up the other side. Fitzwilliam normally had a calm and commanding manner, but there was a restless energy to his subtle movements. Elizabeth’s breathing hitched. He stood so near, she could feel the heat emanating from his body.
Fitzwilliam brought his hands to tenderly cup the sides of her face, and a bold thought came, rapid and unbidden: the two of them unclothed with limbs entangled. She was stirred to act in a way he would find shocking since they were not yet married, and she pushed it away.
Elizabeth saw adoration across his handsome features as he lowered his mouth toward hers. She closed her eyes, waiting to feel his lips press against hers, but the kiss did not come. Elizabeth opened her eyes to see Fitzwilliam looking at her, his lips hovering so close to hers that she could nearly taste them. He leant forward and, before his lips met hers, whispered, “You are the delight of my life, Elizabeth.”
She could not have uttered another sentence in response; her heart was too full. Elizabeth trembled when his soft lips met hers, and a thrill of excitement passed through her body. She wished more of the ardour she felt for him could come across in this sweet, affectionate kiss. Elizabeth ran her hands across his back and repressed the desire to press herself closer.
When he pulled his mouth away, she felt the familiar deprived sensation that always followed when he ended the kisses that she wanted to continue. Elizabeth could see the same intensity that she felt for him play across his features, but he, unlike her, seemed frustratingly unwilling to indulge in them further.
Perhaps it is better for our reputations that one of us is in complete control.
“I still cannot believe that we are to be married,” he said.
“Are you more surprised by your marrying me or marrying at all?”
“After your vehement refusal, I have some reason to be astonished that you eventually accepted me.”
Before Elizabeth could apologise again for calling him the last man in the world she would marry, he said he had never considered marriage before meeting her. Once he decided he wanted to marry her, he went directly to the parsonage and asked her.
“From a young age, my family expected me to marry my cousin Anne, long before I understood what marriage meant. But even before my mother died, I realised I could never marry Anne. After suffering the pursuit of every eligible heiress between sixteen and thirty, and the manoeuvrings of their mothers, it was no sacrifice to suspend the idea of matrimony.”
“You never considered bestowing your hand on your cousin, even for your family?”
“Anne is sickly and fancies herself indisposed. She is foolish, irrational, and very awkward. The only thing that varies with Anne is the degree of her insipidity.”
“Unequal marriages remind me of Charlotte Collins. She is your age and has a large family with no fortune, and her opinion of matrimony is not like mine. She wanted only a comfortable home, and when Mr Collins proposed, she agreed because she feared no one else would ever ask her. His regard for her, I am sure, was quite imaginary.”
“Mr Collins is not without respectability, and Mrs Collins’s prudent character makes it an eligible match.” Fitzwilliam gave her a shrewd look. “Given Mr Collins’s connexions to your family, I am surprised he did not choose one of your sisters. I would have thought that your mother would do all in her power to see him married to one of you.”
Elizabeth started; her future husband was too clever. He studied her as she attempted to remain unaffected. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “When did he offer to you?”
