“All of those and more. You are a great man—an important one. I do not aspire—”
Her confusion was great indeed, her feelings thrown into a tumult. His knees hit the floor directly before her stool, and his hands took hers. Apparently, Mr Read had mentioned more tothe man than his business, or perhaps all good men did such things.
“Elizabeth, may I show you something?”
“Show me? You just…”
“You know what I mean. One moment.”
Bereavement struck when one of his hands left hers, but a moment later her fingers closed on paper, and he released her other hand.
“Use your hands. Examine the page and tell me what you feel.”
Perplexed, Elizabeth did as she was bid. The paper was of good quality. She felt it carefully, unfolded it, and ran her hands over the entire surface.
“This is practically a rag. I am surprised it does not fall apart in my hands. Pray, what is it, and why do you carry it with you?”
He chuckled—averyendearing sound—and replied.
“That is your letter, Elizabeth.”
His use of her given name did not pass unnoticed, nor that he had removed the letter from her hand with such care, folded it, and returned it to his pocket. The paper’s crinkling and the jangle of his watchchain betrayed the manoeuvre while she attempted to discern his meaning, for it was far too extraordinary to be true.
“You can see the paper will be dust soon. I need to hear it from your lips. You told me outright that you hold me in some esteem. That is good, but not enough. I wish to earn your love, and I will do anything to achieve it. Will you allow me the chance to show you my love and earn yours?”
Realising the truth, she noticed the man taking her hands again, as gentle as he would a newborn babe. His hands were large, practically engulfing hers. They were harder than her own, revealing a man who did not leave all the work to servants and farmers. These were the hands of a man who worked the landfrom time to time… a man who understood and protected his own… a man worthy of someone better… but her heart screamed at the insinuation.
Still, she hesitated.
Pensively, the man said, “I must tell you about Bingley’s Oak Tree,” then did just that.
She smiled at the story.
“My oak tree was the docks in Portsmouth and London. Much like Bingley, I will never know if I was showing you the honour of following your wishes, or if I just lacked courage. For Bingley, it was one more mile of riding. For me it would be endless weeks of misery, but in either case, we would both have to lay our hearts bare in front of the woman we loved. I will never know if we were not bold enough, or if it was simply not the right time. Had Bingley acted more precipitously, he might never have grown into the man he is, your sister might not have grown into the woman she is, I would never have become such great friends with your sister, and my life would be diminished. Had I acted with more bravery, I doubt Anne would have ever escaped Rosings, let alone found herself and her love.Only you could do that!Perhaps, Elizabeth… perhaps Fate just decided that we had important things to do before we could be together, but the time is now. Please tell me you will allow me to try.”
Elizabeth came to her senses; the power in his voice was overwhelming. She knew insincerity at a dozen paces, but the converse was true, and there was not the slightest doubt that this man sincerely offered up his heart.
“Fitzwilliam, do you know what my most prevalent emotion was upon leaving Netherfield? It was not anger, though I was filled with a red-hot rage such as I had never felt before. It was not pain, though my hip hurt abominably. It was not concern for my sister, though she was reduced to leaning on a limping blind woman for support. It was not embarrassment, though I hadheard the worst slight of my life. It was not revenge or justice, though I knew that you would put that harridan in her place. Do you know what it was?”
“Please,” he whispered so softly no one else could have heard.
“It was disappointment. I loved you, even then. I would not admit it to myself, and still can barely do so, but I was disappointed to know that my one chance to befriend you while maintaining some kind of dignity was lost. I never aspired to have you love me, but I had hoped I could love you from afar and live my life. That was ripped away that morning, and I felt it so acutely it nearly killed me; but it was many months before I could sort out the feeling and understand it.”
“You love me?”
She heard everything in that question: love, pain, struggle, hope, and more love.
“Yes, with all my heart. I think I loved you almost from the start.Love at first sightdid not apply, but I flirted outrageously with you in that first assembly, though I would not admit it to myself.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?”
She answered in a whisper,
“Yes, I would be honoured. May I?”
While he wondered at her request, she disengaged her hands from his, raised them to cup his cheek, and traced his face to know it. She would never see him, but that was no reason she could not know him. His hair was longer than she would have expected, his sideburns softer. His lips, when she reached them, were soft and yielding, and he gave not the slightest resistance as she gently pulled him towards herself for their first kiss. So intense were their feelings that they naturally bumped their heads together before their lips met, which unleashed a torrentof laughter that delayed the kissing for… well, to be truthful, not very long.
Fitzwilliam would have happily jumped up and spun her around the room like a little girl, but wisely desisted, correctly surmising that was more likely to make her ill than lovestruck. He did however, equally wisely, or perhaps lazily, trade places with her on the bench, as having her in his lap was in every way superior to being on his knees, which by that time were in agony.
