“Listen to me for once and obey…woman,” he said teasingly before leaving the carriage. However, he knew how delicate the subject was.
He had asked Mr Bennet not to give him any dowry. He knew the Bennets’ financial situation and decided to help them as much as possible. Still, he did not want Elizabeth or anyoneelse to know. Thanks to his mother, any problems would be solved forever once they were married.
“You seem to forget that you are rich and do not need your father or me to indulge you.”
“I have not forgotten. But I am still uncomfortable receiving so much money for my expenses only. It is generous but also overwhelming. It seems impossible.”
“Yet it is true, my love. Marry me today, and tomorrow, you will be a rich woman on your own. Or marry me in two weeks, andIshall pay for all your gowns and anything else you want to buy!”
He was laughing, and she suddenly forgot all her worries and shared his delight. They wandered through the park, arm in arm, their joy so radiant that it seemed to spill over to all who crossed their path. Darcy’s friends or acquaintances paused to greet them, obviously interested in making her acquaintance. It was completely different from the night at the opera, and Darcy silently thanked the duke. To their delight, every encounter was marked by kindness—polite words and warm smiles, invitations to dinners and soirées, or simple yet heartfelt congratulations on their engagement.
“It is a triumph!” Darcy murmured in her ear and smiled, looking at him.
“Do not look at me like that, madam!” he said quite hoarsely.
“Or?” she wanted to know.
“Or I will kiss you in the middle of the crowd.” And she looked at him again with even more love, lust and yearning, and they both began to laugh.
∞∞∞
Darcy was content with the results of their stroll. He was now sure there were no visible traces of the gossip remaining, and he did not care how this end was achieved.
They intended to have a light meal and perhaps rest for an hour or two, but the moment they entered the hall, Parker arrived in a hurry, handing Darcy a letter with great solemnity. Elizabeth was about to walk up the stairs when Darcy silently took her hand, stopping her. He led her to the library. It was an impressive room with a high ceiling full of marvellous paintings and intricate wood bas-relief carvings. The books were arranged on three walls behind crystal glass doors on shelves as high as the room. She had entered that room several times to choose a book, each time intimidated by the mahogany shelves where the volumes stood in an order she hesitated to disturb. She made a promise to herself that, when she became the mistress of the house, the library would have all the glass windows widely opened; anybody would be allowed to take books and even leave them in disorder.
But for the moment, the austerity of the room was in perfect accord with her future husband’s face. Without words, he gave her the letter he had just read, his intense gaze on her face, asking for advice. Elizabeth lived a brief moment of deep satisfaction; the man before her had abandoned every imperfection she had seen in him when they first met. The letter was from the Duke of Blandford, inviting Darcy to call on him as soon as he received the message. The letter was written without ceremony. It sounded familiar and began with Dear Darcy, the invitation so informal that only a member of the family would dare address it in that manner.
“He is a duke,” Elizabeth said as Darcy waited for her opinion. “I do not know—perhaps a duke can write such a letter to anybody he chooses. It is my first letter from a duke!” She was joking, and he smiled, but Darcy was aware that people of rank were formal and utterly dependent on society’s protocol.
“What did you write to him?”
Darcy smiled again, but this time, his smile had another meaning. He remembered her coming as he wrote and the kiss that followed…that was so much more than a kiss…
“Sir,” she said with a sweet reproach, “you are remembering things of no importance to the present moment!”
“You are wrong, my lady. The events where you are involved…in a certain manner are the only important circumstances of my life—before dukes, princes, or kings!”
He moved closer, begging for a kiss, the first real kiss since yesterday. Elizabeth leaned towards him in total abandon, forgetting about letters and dukes. Darcy was right: only their love was important.
He was the first to return to the present, looking at her and saying, “What shall I do, my love?”
“This morning, you said you had already made a decision.”
“This morning, I was sure it was the right decision to visit His Grace and give him the letters my mother never sent him.”
“And now? What has changed?”
Darcy hesitated a moment. “He is a very influential man, a powerful one. I do not know his true intentions or the reason for his sudden interest in me when we barely know each other.”
They were both startled on hearing a discreet cough; Lady Edwina was standing in the library’s open door, and she likely had seen them kissing.
“I apologise for disturbing you.”
“There is no reason to apologise—please come in,” Darcy invited her as Elizabeth blushed.
“I shall stay only a moment.” She hesitated momentarily, admiring Elizabeth and her godson; they made a splendid pair, and she intended to defend their love against any malevolence.
“You are beautiful together,” she said, and they looked at each other, smiling and in total agreement.
