“I am certain.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was firm, brooking no argument. “I have been fighting my feelings for weeks, telling myself all the reasons why I should not act upon them. Miss Bennet’s connections, her lack of fortune, theunsuitability of the match—I am well aware of all these objections. But when faced with the prospect of her being forced into a marriage to someone so absolutely unworthy of her…” He shook his head and let his regard rest on her. “Nay, someone other than myself, I could not stand aside and do nothing.”
The intensity in his words and expression made her pulse race. “Miss Bennet is intelligent, principled, witty, and kind. She is the only woman I have ever met who challenges me, who makes me want to be better than I am. She will be an exemplary mistress of Pemberley and a wonderful influence on Georgiana. More than that, she is the only woman I could ever imagine spending my life with.”
Elizabeth felt something shift inside her. He did not merely defend his choice to his family—he declared it. Claiming her without reservation, before the people whose opinion mattered most to him. He had named exactly what he valued in her, and he had done it without flinching.
She had asked him to risk everything for her.He did. Right now. In this room.
Elizabeth stood and moved to his side, placing her hand on his arm. A united front. When he covered her hand with his own, she felt the warmth of it permeate her bones.
Whatever doubts she had carried into this room, they no longer mattered. He had stood for her. Thus, she would stand with him.
Lord Matlock exchanged a look with his wife. When Lady Matlock spoke again, the coolness in her voice had thawed by a degree. “Love is all very well, Fitzwilliam, butyou must consider the practical matters. Can she manage a household the size of Pemberley? Does she understand what will be expected of her as your wife? Has she the education and refinement necessary to move in the circles you inhabit?”
“I have no doubts about her abilities,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth found her voice. “I am the daughter of a gentleman, but my experience is limited to a country village and a modest household. I have never been responsible for an estate like Pemberley, nor have I moved in society at the level Mr. Darcy occupies. Nonetheless, I am willing to do whatever is necessary to become the wife he deserves.”
She tightened her fingers on Darcy’s arm. “I cannot promise to be perfect. But I can promise to try my very best, and to be faithful to you in all things.”
Lady Matlock regarded her with a lingering look, then rose to ring the bell. “Mrs. Morrison,” she said when the housekeeper appeared, “please have Miss Bennet’s trunk taken to the blue chamber. And send word to Miss Darcy that we have a guest she should meet.”
To Elizabeth, she said, “You will rest and refresh yourself, Miss Bennet. Then you will join us for dinner, where we can become better acquainted. Fitzwilliam assures us you are worthy of the Darcy name. We shall see for ourselves.”
It was not precisely welcoming, but neither was it a rejection. Elizabeth curtseyed. “Thank you, my lady. I will endeavor not to disappoint you.”
“See that you do not,” Lady Matlock said, though her tone had lost some of its edge. “Mrs. Morrison will showyou to your chamber. We dine at six o’clock. Do not be late.”
Before departing the room, Elizabeth’s eyes rested on Mr. Darcy one last time. He stood every inch the master of Pemberley. The afternoon light from the tall windows emphasized the planes of his face, the strong line of his jaw, and the intensity in his dark eyes, which never wavered from hers.
He was, she realized with a small shock of pleasure, extraordinarily handsome. How had she not noticed before? Or perhaps she had noticed and simply refused to acknowledge it, too distracted in her own prejudice to see what was directly before her.
This man—wealthy, principled, impossibly proud—had stood before his family and claimed her without hesitation or apology.
She smiled at him, letting all her gratitude and growing affection show plainly on her face. His answering look was warm, protective, utterly certain.
She was, Elizabeth thought as she followed Mrs. Morrison from the room, a very fortunate woman indeed.
Mrs. Morrison, a stern woman of middling years, led Elizabeth up the grand staircase and down a corridor lined with portraits. She opened a door to reveal a beautiful bedchamber done in shades of blue and cream, with impressive windows overlooking the square below.
“This will be your chamber, miss,” Mrs. Morrison said. “Your trunk has already been brought up. Your clothing will be hung and pressed. Hot water and tea will be here soon. Is there anything you require?”
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs. Morrison said, “There is a bell pull by the bed if you need anything else.”
When the housekeeper had gone, Elizabeth collapsed onto the bed, covered in luxurious silks, and allowed herself to simply breathe. That had been even more difficult than she anticipated; Lord and Lady Matlock had been civil, but with glaring reservations. They thought their nephew was making a terrible mistake. They thought she was beneath him. And perhaps they were right.
But Mr. Darcy had said he loved her. The words echoed in her mind, impossible to ignore or dismiss. The question was: Could she love him in return?
Her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to Longbourn. By now, they would know she was gone. She could picture it with heart-rending certainty: her mother shrieking about ruined plans and ungrateful daughters; Kitty and Lydia thinking it all a tremendous joke, wondering where Lizzy had hidden herself; her father in his study, furious at being outmaneuvered by his own favorite child.
And Jane. Dear gentle Jane would be beside herself with worry. Elizabeth felt guilt in every inch of her body. Jane would not eat, would not sleep, would torture herself with imagined horrors. She would want to search for Elizabeth herself, but propriety and their mother would keep her confined to Longbourn, helpless and afraid.
Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her eyes. She had caused that pain. Necessary as her flight had been, she had hurt the person she loved most in the world.
And Mr. Collins? She did not care how he responded,as long as he turned his attention towards Mary. Her sister deserved that chance at happiness.
Elizabeth lowered her hands and stared at the canopy above her. Until last night, she had not truly known her middle sister at all. She had thought Mary awkward, pedantic, buried so deeply in her books and sermons that she rarely noticed the world around her. How wrong she had been. Mary, who had probably been lonely for years while Elizabeth laughed with Jane and ignored her completely, who loved Mr. Collins, had never said a word. Instead, she risked everything to help her sister escape. What a marvel she was. What a sister.
