“Oh, thank God, Darcy. Come to my study, will you? Mrs. Nichols will make up a room for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Forgive me for such an inconvenient arrival,” Darcy said to the housekeeper who had just rushed up from below stairs covered in a shawl.
“Should I send up a tray, sir?”
“No, thank you. I do not need anything but a bed, Charles. I have had a very long day, as have my driver and his boys.”
“Mrs. Nichols will see to them after they have put up your horses. But you will want a brandy at least?”
Fearing he would not wake early if he drank much brandy, Darcy took a glass of claret instead, and gave Bingley an annotated version of Lydia Bennet’s retrieval. He then went up to bed and fell into a jangled heap. Thankfully, he slept.
Bingley’s man woke him at seven in the morning, and by eight o’clock, Darcy was hacking down Netherfield’s drive on a borrowed gelding. Charles had the delicacy not to wedge himself into Darcy’s triumphant announcement. He would ride over in an hour, he said, and hoped he would be welcome to share in everyone’s relief after their initial shock had worn off.
Darcy tried to plan what he would say to the Bennets, but he was still too tired to think, and so he put his mind where it always went when off the leash—on Elizabeth. His thoughts, it seemed, must have conjured her in the form he could see down the road. He blinked to clear his vision, but no! He had not imagined Elizabeth. She was out walking down the lane from Longbourn!
His heart roared around in his chest as he stepped to the road and led his horse forward to meet her.
“Miss Bennet,” he said with the blinding smile of an idiot. Unthinking he took her hands and kissed them, and then he kissed her cheek and beheld her face in wonder.
“Mr. Darcy?”
“We have found your sister. She is well—”
“Lydia? You have found Lydia?” she gasped, gripping his hands.
“She is at this moment with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.”
Tears filled her beautiful eyes. “Is she hurt?”
“She is well.”
“But—where was she?! Oh, but I have no right to hear anything before everyone else, Mr. Darcy. As it is, you shall have to tell us what happened at least ten times in an hour. I can hardly believe it!”
“Nor can I. How should I tell them do you think? I am a little muddled just now.”
“You look very tired. I cannot imagine the trouble you have endured for us—a trouble, I will add, for which it is impossible to thank you!”
“You will please me by not speaking of obligation, Elizabeth.” He paused, conscious he was blurting out her given name as if he had a right to.
“But I am obliged to you, Mr. Darcy. Very obliged, dazzled even, and—” She turned up her face and graced him with a look of wonder before she blushed, and said, “In truth, I am filled withsuchadmiration for you.”
“Admiration? You should know better than to encourage me with talk of admiration. I may begin to speak to you, to ask you things, without any assurance that my words—my questions— would be welcome.” What a pitiful speech! And to hint at such a subject like a cowering dog! Where had his dignity gone, he wondered, as he clamped his jaw closed.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, her chest rising and falling with quick little breaths. “There is nothing you could say to me that would be unwelcome, no question you could ask me just now to which I would not sayyes.”
The world stilled. His mind stilled. He was aware of his breath and the beating of his heart. He stepped forward, putting his hand on her cheek, instantly certain of what to say to her for once.
“Will it rain today, Elizabeth?” he asked gently.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Might I sit down to breakfast with your family?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek into his palm.
“And will you marry the last man in the world?”
“Oh yes,” she breathed almost sorrowfully. “How stupid I have been not to know how good you are.”
