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They had dreamed of what love could be, but neither had understood how deeply it could move them until that moment.
They could have stayed on the terrace forever, gazing at each other, but Darcy knew he must tell her the truth. His happiness faltered as he wondered whether she would agree to what he must ask. She might believe his proposal had been prompted by what had happened in London, and he knew how readily she could question his motives. He longed to prolong their happiness, but he must be honest with her. Taking her hand, he led her down into the park. She followed without hesitation, having placed her trust in him when she said yes. The half-moon shone above them, with stars scattered across the sky.
They walked in silence, but he could no longer delay his explanation. He had to tell her everything before they could be truly happy.
“My love,” he began, feeling her tremble at his words, “our meeting was the work of fate…”
“I know,” she replied, leaning against him.
“Oh, Elizabeth, it is so difficult to tell you…”
She stopped to look into his eyes and saw his uneasiness. Only a moment before she had been entirely happy, and now she understood that something still troubled him.
“No, no, do not worry, I beg you! All I ask is that we marry soon and keep our plans quiet. You will not have much time to prepare, and we shall tell only our nearest relations.”
He began with that request so she would know what he wanted. No force in the world could compel him to marry another woman. Elizabeth was the only one he desired.
“Yes!” she declared. “I shall marry you tomorrow!”
Her answer was firm, and she did not even ask for an explanation.
“I love you so ardently,” he murmured, “my heart could burst at any moment.”
She stood before him and rested her hand upon his heart. Through the fine linen of his shirt, he felt the warmth of her palm and forgot, for a moment, how new their intimacy was. Her body was so close to his that he imagined holding her with no restraint between them. But he put the thought aside. Now that he knew Elizabeth would be his wife, he must consider her feelings. She was an innocent young woman, unaware of carnal love. In ordinary circumstances, they would have had time to grow accustomed to such closeness, for him to caress her and let her discover the pleasure of deeper kisses before claiming her body. Their engagement would be brief, but he would still give her the time she needed, even after they were married.
His kiss became more insistent, and she sighed as his caresses grew bolder. Darcy loved her bashfulness, but she did not draw away, even when his touch surprised her.
“Why must we marry so soon?” she asked at last, but Darcy was less afraid now that she had agreed to his haste.
It was his turn to sigh, deeply and with some pain.
“Do not worry,” she said, smiling in the darkness. “I shall not renounce Pemberley for any reason in the world!” She was jesting to ease his concern, but she had to admit Pemberley held an important place in her heart. She longed to be mistress of the estate and loved by its master. Never had she contemplated marrying a man solely for his wealth. If she loved him, she would have married a clergyman or a lawyer and lived on a small income. Nevertheless, Pemberley had captivated her as surely as the man who possessed it.
“Please, tell me, Fitzwilliam!” she urged, and her voice sounded so composed that he suddenly imagined that they had been married for years and were taking a walk before retiring to bed. They might not always agree, but he believed she would stand beside him in difficult times.
“Have you given your word to another woman?” she asked calmly, much as he imagined his Elizabeth might question him in years to come.
He turned towards her and laughed. “I do not know why I am drawn to such a clever woman!”
“Have you?” she persisted, divided between concern and jealousy.
“No. But a document has appeared which claims that I have. My aunt, Lady Catherine, recently produced what she says is a codicil to my mother’s will, signed shortly before her death. It declares that I had given my consent to marry my cousin, Anne de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth stopped in the middle of the path, disturbed by such an obstacle.
“You have met Anne. At least you have no reason to be jealous!” he attempted to jest.
“Poor girl! Nevertheless, I am worried. It is unlike you to disregard your mother’s wishes.”
“It is not my mother’s wish. Of that I am certain. My father and I fulfilled her wishes years ago. She left a few possessions to relations and friends, and letters for Georgiana and me. But to impose such a marriage upon me…no, that is not the mother I remember. Above all, I know that I never gave the consent this document claims. I made no promise to marry Anne. Lady Catherine is counting on that terrible time when Mama died, when we were all distressed and bewildered. She hopes I do not remember what happened, that grief has blurred my memories. She does not understand how pain works because she has never suffered. If she had spoken to me of such a thing at that moment, I would have been disgusted, appalled, and would certainly have refused. It was no time to speak of marriage.”
“Then why should you fear it?”
“My aunt will say I broke my word to my dying mother. She may even believe it herself. My uncle fears what would happen if she made the document public, and I cannot dismiss his concern.”
“She is so determined to have you marry her daughter,” Elizabeth murmured, but remembering Lady Catherine, she began to understand his concern.
“Yes, she is, Elizabeth. That is what angers me most. Our solicitor is examining the document, and he has persuaded her to wait, but you know Lady Catherine. I cannot depend upon her patience.”
