Elizabeth’s yearning matched his. She hoped he would come to her—his dark eyes silently said as much—to comfort and support each other. It was outrageous for him to be in her chamber, but she cared little. There was no reputation to save, no honour or other principles imposed by society. Not anymore. Darcy was her man, just as William Fitzroy, Duke of Blandford, belonged to Lady Anne. In death, his mother wanted to leave a vivid trace of her love to be remembered by her children. She had been an honest and faithful wife and had never contacted the duke during her lifetime. She had played her role of mistress of Pemberley with dignity and pleasure and had adored her children. However, near death, she decided to disclose her true love and make that feeling their heritage.
Darcy entered without knocking, and Elizabeth met him with an adoring gaze as his arms tightened around her.
In a close embrace, Darcy whispered, “For the first time in her life, she could decide for herself and for her love. Nobody had the power to stop her in the realm of near death—not the king, the old duke, or her father. But she did not impose her wishes on us. There was no death-bed demand but an invitation I could take or leave.”
“We need to know everything…” Elizabeth murmured in his arms.
“Yes, we shall know the full extent of her memories—”
“I want to be with you!” she interrupted.
Elizabeth was not teasing him. There was such determination in her voice that Darcy stepped away to look at her face. She coloured, but her eyes were bright and truthful, no longer afraid or shy. She wanted to be his.
“You will…my love,” he said. “We shall be married in less than two weeks.”
“I am afraid,” murmured Elizabeth. It was not a rational fear but rather one undoubtedly influenced by the devastatingly tragic love story of Lady Anne, which they both already knew would end in sorrow.
“You have no reason to be afraid, my love.”
“I want to be yours,” she repeated, and though she blushed, her eyes did not waver from his.
“Elizabeth, you shall be. I have in my pocket the paper that grants us the right to marry tomorrow. We can go to any nearby church together, and you will be my wife. Lady Catherine is not the old Duke of Blandford, believe me. She has done all she could, but nothing can stand in the way of our happiness. Nothing can change our love and plans to marry. We are the only ones who can determine our destiny. My dear parents are both gone, and I am sure your parents are willing for us to marry—especially your mother!”
Elizabeth smiled; for once, Darcy spoke about her mother with something suspiciously looked like amused tenderness.
“We have Fitzroy on our side as well. You shall be received in the most distinguished houses of London like a princess. For now, since we know what has transpired, the duke will wish to do this—for me, for us, for you.
“Do you trust me?”
“I do,” she said without hesitation.
“Then let me kiss you and dream of our wedding night—”
“Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Oh, madam? What does this rather unenthusiastic exclamation mean?”
“It means that any dream of the wedding night is…a sweet torment.”
“Are you telling me that it had already happened?”
She hid her eyes; she did not want him to see that more than once, she dreamt of his body close to hers.
“You did dream!” he laughed, yet trying to hide the immense yearning that overwhelmed him too.
“It is the sweet pain that anticipates the love making,” he whispered in her ear, making her tremble and sigh. “Your body is already waiting for me, my love.”
Chapter 14
They gathered in the dining room—just the four of them. Jane had been invited to the theatre, to a large party, including Mr Bennet, the Gardiners, and other friends. Bingley was proud and eager to present his future bride. Darcy nodded with affection as Bingley recited the names of those they would meet; it seemed all of London wanted to see Jane.
Briefly saddened, Darcy reflected that Elizabeth would have been received that way if not for his family. But in the end, with the duke’s help, he hoped the problem would be resolved for them too.
Usually, Elizabeth adored having Jane with her, but that evening was about a secret, a family secret that had the power to change their lives. And this time, ‘family’ meant Darcy, Georgiana, and Lady Edwina.
“I have looked over the letters,” Lady Edwina said. “Mostly, they are from Fitzroy to your mother. My poor friendmust have read them countless times as some are almost torn apart.”
Darcy remembered his mother’s parlour and the noise the panel made when it slid open. It was strange that his mother did not conceal it from him, for he was only a child and could have been indiscreet at that age. His mother knew him well, as he never told anybody about the portrait. Then, as he grew older, he seemed to forget about it.
