“Fortunately, my wife remains as unyielding as the blade of a sword,” he whispered in her ear as they returned to their guests.
Gazing at each other, they were first overcome by calm, then by pleasure, at last realising that nothing stood in the way of their happiness any longer. They had their whole lives ahead of them. No more danger loomed; there were no more fears to chase away. They could live each moment knowing that another, and yet another, would follow.
Then, as if by silent agreement, just before dinner, everyone vanished. Even Georgiana, who was easily persuaded by Kitty and Jane to accompany them to Longbourn—or rather, to Netherfield, for Mr Bingley had decided to reopen the house.
“Has everyone truly gone?” Darcy asked, looking about the room, unable to believe they were finally alone.
“Every last one,” Elizabeth said, laughing.
Then she did something she had once dreamt of—she twirled in the centre of the drawing-room, moving to the rhythm of an unheard melody.
Darcy rose and bowed before her as he would have done in a ballroom, and when she took his hand, he pulled her tightly into his arms, and they moved together, their first dance celebrating their love.
“I do not know this dance,” she murmured in wonder, shivering from that closeness that seemed the prelude to their long-awaited union.
“You will, my love. Soon,” he replied, already imagining their wedding dance, which he had no doubt Elizabeth would perform flawlessly.
They spun two or three times, then stopped, looking at one another, both exhausted, yet the gaze they shared contained nothing but the pure elation of being together.
“Let us sit,” Elizabeth suggested.
Darcy took a moment before speaking. “I still have a long way to go before I regain my former strength after spending three months in bed.”
“And look at him!” Elizabeth cried teasingly, speaking to the whole world. “All he truly wishes for, my Mr Darcy, is to return to bed!”
“I want to return to what we were,” he said.
Yet this notion of ‘returning’ to their former selves suddenly felt wrong. Elizabeth and Darcy of Meryton, Hertfordshire, Netherfield, or Kent had never been a couple; in truth, they had been adversaries for most of that time. And Elizabeth and Darcy of London had shared nothing more than a mere arrangement.
“Do you feel deceived?” Darcy asked suddenly, his voice tinged with sadness.
In an instant, she was in his arms. He sounded so sorrowful. Never, in all those months, had she told him she loved him. She had withheld her words and feelings with immense effort, not wanting to burden their desperate situation with a sentiment that might have deepened his despair.
“Do not lie to me,” he pleaded. “Three months ago, I proposed an agreement. Now, you have me for life.”
“Oh, Mr Darcy, how shallow you are!” Elizabeth smiled with amused reproof. “Despite all the hardships, something extraordinary has come from our shared suffering. Perhaps we were not a conventional couple, but those months sowed between us a deep understanding—a way of speaking without words, of accepting each other with all our faults, an understanding of each other’s families. And above all, the immense desire for what we had, whether a lot or a little, to never come to an end. I was ready to stay by your side until the end of my days.”
“Nonsense,” he said, still unconvinced.
She rested her head against his chest, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Hush, and listen to my heart, my body. They will tell you everything you wish to know.”
“You are a woman like any other. Passion can be nothing more than desire.”
“And would that not satisfy you?” she teased, tracing gentle patterns across his chest, caressing him in a way he had imagined all that time.
Darcy sighed softly. This, too, he had learnt in her presence—to temper his pride, to let her see his vulnerabilities.
“When I called for you, I believed that merely seeing you would be enough. I could not conceive of dying without laying eyes on you one last time. And then I knew—you were the onlyone who would accept such an arrangement, for you desired a freedom few women truly long for.”
“Were you certain I would accept?” she asked, leaning against his chest to look up at him.
“No, dear God, no! Not in the least.”
“Silly man, how could I not accept?” she asked, and he gazed at her in astonishment.
“Because you wished for the freedom I was offering you?”
“Because, first and foremost, you offered me yourself.”
