“I shall see you out.”
They departed the library, leaving behind a new Mary who smiled with happiness and felt worried at the same time.
“I am so sorry,” he said, caressing Elizabeth’s face. They were in the hall, where nothing ardent could happen between them.
“What for?” she asked, a sudden fear stealing upon her—could he repent of his decision made in such haste?
“Do not think foolishly, Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, as though her very thought were revealed before him. “I am wholly possessed by you—”
“Possession is no virtue,” she murmured, her voice low, her spirit steadied by the warmth in his gaze, yet still disposed to oppose him.
“Think not so of me. This is only a part of my immense love for you. I would want to know each thought that moves within your exquisite mind.”
“Then tell me why you are sorry.”
“Because our first day of love is darkened by worry and frustration.”
“Do not be sorry; without these circumstances, perhaps you would never have proposed to me.”
“My angel has claws,” he said with a smile.
“Angel?” she exclaimed. “No one has ever thought me an angel.”
“No one knows you as I do. You are an angel—until the she-devil appears…in my chamber.” He whispered the last in her ear, and she trembled, caught between excitement, anticipation, and still shyness.
“You…” she breathed, that single word containing all her mingled emotions, from love to playful reproaches.
“Lady Matlock has invited your aunt and uncle to dine with us this evening. We shall have news to share.”
“Yes, you must make it official—Mr Darcy.”
“I thought I had already done so before my aunt and your sister.”
Elizabeth smiled, still marvelling at her own fortune, still uncertain whether she was betrothed to such an incredible man.
“Are you walking?” she asked, noticing the absence of carriage or horse.
“Yes, my love. Our home lies but ten minutes distant.”
He was gone, leaving her in a state of happy bewilderment. She had a house—and did not even know its location.
In her chamber, she wondered if it were all a dream; yet the tingling of her skin from his kisses, the memory of his hands and eyes, proved its reality. He had asked her to be his wife.
She sat at her writing-desk to compose a letter.
Dearest Jane,
You will not believe what has happened. Mr Darcy has proposed, and I have accepted.
So full was her heart that she could scarcely set down the words. A discreet knock brought a letter—Jane’s own hand.
Dearest Lizzy,
You will not believe what has happened. Mr Bingley has asked me to be his wife. We are to be married in September, upon the very day we first met last year.
Elizabeth could read no further. Joy welled within her for them both, though part of her mind returned to the colonel’s plight. Yet in her room, she could freely surrender to the happiness that filled her heart. Was she ready to be a wife? Every part of her answered yes, though she knew not all that it entailed. Still, if Darcy had come to her that night, she would have yielded to whatever he desired. She trusted him utterly, both as a man and as her beloved.
I am ready to be your wife, my love.
