Page 107 of Bitterness of Spirit

His words pained her as she did not dare accept their meaning. “I do not understand, sir. You said you were aware of our presence, and yet you left before we arrived. You insisted on Charles and Jane coming here, so you clearly wanted them at Pemberley. But you left, so I must be the one you wanted to avoid. Then why did you extend your invitation to me too? Especially for staying at Pemberley? And how can you say my nearness is your comfort?”

He moved another step, so he was in front of her, looking down into her face. They were both in wet clothing, lost in misunderstandings, and surrounded by the warm night. She wondered how long she could restrain her tears and how long her legs would continue to support her.

“Miss Bennet, I…we have lost enough time with bitter words and hurried responses that meant nothing and hurt deeply. I am not certain whether I correctly understood your words and reproaches from our last conversation in Meryton. I might have been wrong again. I did not leave Pemberley to avoid you but to catch you in London so we might travel here together. I wanted to have everything clear before your journey. When I arrived in Town, I found that you left much earlier than the estimated plans, so I hurried back. I look like a savage because I have barely slept at all in the last days, and I just took a bath in the lake to cool my mind at the thought that I would see you.”

Elizabeth watched him with fearful hopes, her mind slowly comprehending his profession as he spoke further.

“I am still uncertain how your feelings changed since last April, and I am still unsure about whether you wish more than mere friendship from me, but I can go no longer without speaking my mind and my heart with all the risks and fears. My wishes have not changed at all since that day at the Parsonage, but my affection has grown and deepened. I told you back then that I ardently loved and admired you, but those feelings are now much stronger. I only made foolish accusations because I could not believe my good fortune. I thought I could not possibly have gained your good opinion so quickly. I was a bitter fool—as you said.”

“Mr. Darcy, I am afraid you must be even more clear that this, to avoid any misunderstanding,” she replied with trembling voice. “Do you mean what I think you do?”

She felt tears falling on her cheeks and his thumbs gently wiping them while his strong, tender palms cupped her face. She put her hands over his.

“More clear? Very well, then,” he said, his thumbs still stroking her cheeks and tantalising the corners of her mouth. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, almost since the day I met you, I realised that my notion of love and happiness was inaccurate. You invaded my life to enrich it and my sleep to disturb it; you filled my soul and my mind until there was no room for anything else. My wish is to not live another day without showing my love for you, and I shall do all I can to accomplish this. How will you take my proofs of love, and what will you do with them? I can only hope. Nothing is stronger than my wishes—except yours. Therefore, from this moment on, I shall do what you want me to do.”

He stopped and gently took her hands, allowing her to withdraw them if she wanted to. But she did not. Instead, she entwined her fingers with his and gently inclined her head until their foreheads touched. They stood like that for a while, two shadows against the Pemberley walls, guarded by the stars.

Then, she stretched out her hands and cupped his face, and with her heart beating wildly, she pressed her lips to his. She did not move, did not breathe, abandoning herself to the blissful dizziness. He made no gesture—waiting, still, patient, bewitched.

It was her kiss, the first one—her response to his profession, her proof of love.

The night was still around them, but neither dared to move, afraid that it was still a dream that could be shattered by a painful awakening. Fearful of losing her, he gently pulled her to his chest. Their wet gowns, wet bodies, and warm souls touched, happy to finally complete each other.

It was a while before they dared to move, but they broke the embrace only enough to gaze into each other’s eyes.

“How could you believe I ran away from you?”

“How could you believe that I deceived you and showed you more than I felt? My only deception was the uncertainty of my feelings and showing you less than I truly felt.”

“I have been an arrogant fool. But you already know that. There are so many things I wish—I need—to tell you…”

“I want to listen to them…” she said. “But tomorrow in the light of day. I do not want us to be seen now and raise gossip that might upset Georgiana and Anne.”

He kissed her bare hand, his lips lingering in her palm then brushing over her wrist. She shivered with delight.

“Yes…tomorrow in full daylight. And then again, on many other nights,” he whispered hoarsely, a promise that flustered her as she tried to understand.

“Whenever you want, Mr. Darcy,” she teased him. “If only you do not have other business to take you away.”

“Nothing could take me away from you, my darling Elizabeth, if I know you want me near. You have been my only business for many months, but I did not know how to tell you.”

“Perhaps it was I who did not know how to understand what you were telling me,” she replied.

“Not at all, the fault was entirely mine,” he insisted.

She laughed and gently caressed his fingers with hers. The small gesture was powerful, and it was such a heart-melting sensation to know she had the right to do that.

“We shall not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to our past misunderstandings,” she teased him.

They walked inside together: arm in arm, heart to heart. She had lost her shoes, so he took off his too. She laughed tearfully at his side.

“I met Mr. Wilson,” he suddenly told her.

She frowned and turned to him. “When? Where?”

“Today…earlier, on my way home. He was at my parents’ grave. I believe he had been there for some time. His horse was rather far away.”

“Oh…and did you talk?”