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“The truth is,” she confessed, offering him her heart, “I dreaded leaving you. I do not merely accept your proposal, Fitzwilliam. I love you. I want your gravity, I want your awkwardness, and I want the wonderful humour you have finally allowed me to witness.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes shining with unshed emotion. He moved closer, eliminating the final inches of space between them. He gathered her hands from his lapels and pressed them over his heart, allowing her to feel the joyful rhythm beating within.

Elizabeth freed one hand from his clasp and eased her bonnet back.

Then, slowly, with trembling reverence, he lowered his head.

She tilted her chin upward, her eyelids fluttering shut as she anticipated the touch.

His lips met hers. It was a brief, tender first kiss, without any demanding urgency, yet carrying the weight of a vow. The warmth of the contact bloomed through her, securing the promise of a lifetime of shared mornings, quiet reading, and endless laughter.

The world around them faded into insignificance. The distant chatter of their relatives, the rustling of the willow leaves, and the gentle lapping of the lake water vanished. Elizabeth stood with him, letting herself believe that they would have a happy life together.

There were no interruptions this time. No howling dogs disturbed the peace, and no aunt shouted instructions from the gravel path. This moment belonged to them.

Mr Darcy ended the tender kiss, resting his forehead on hers, a contented sigh escaping him.

“You have made me the happiest of men,” he murmured, his tone thick with awe.

“And you have secured a stubborn, very opinionated wife,” Elizabeth teased, her eyes shining with joy.

“I expect nothing less,” he promised, lifting his head with a brilliant smile.

He offered his arm and she took it, securing her hand in the crook of his elbow. They turned back to the path, preparing to rejoin their family.

As they followed the gravel walkway back to the lakeside clearing, Elizabeth noticed a change in the arrangement of their companions.

Miss de Bourgh and Miss Darcy had returned from the stone bridge and joined the others.

The scene before them was suspicious. Lady Catherine, Aunt Madeline, Uncle Edward, Miss de Bourgh, and Miss Darcy stood in a straight line near the wooden bench. They were silent, their collective gaze fixed on the approaching couple. They had the appearance of a formal receiving party anticipating the arrival of visiting royalty.

Mr Darcy slowed his steps.

“And we have not yet told them!” he exclaimed.

Elizabeth saw the expectant posture of the matriarch. “Your aunt has reached her own conclusions and she is likely preparing to dictate the date of the wedding.”

She squeezed his arm, pausing their progression.

“Perhaps,” she suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “we should take the longer path back to the house. The one following the shore?”

Mr Darcy directed his gaze to the waiting relatives, then back to the laughing lady holding his arm. On this occasion, the master of Pemberley did not require a second invitation to avoid his duty.

“The longer path is an excellent suggestion, my love,” he agreed.

They turned along the shore, leaving the eager receiving party waiting on the grass, and walked together beneath the trees, still visible from the clearing but in no haste to return.

Chapter Twelve: The Proper Governance of Courtships

The prolonged stroll along the lakeside afforded Fitzwilliam Darcy an hour of peace. He guided Elizabeth along the winding, shaded paths, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow, her proximity grounding him in a reality brighter than any he had dared imagine.

They stepped through the glass doors of the drawing-room. The receiving party had relocated indoors, forming a semi-circle around the hearth.

Lady Catherine occupied a winged armchair, tapping an impatient rhythm on the woven carpet with her walking stick. The Gardiners shared a sofa, Mrs Gardiner full of anticipation, while Mr Gardiner consulted his pocket watch with exaggerated significance. Anne and Georgiana sat near a small table, ignoring a collection of fashion plates.

Darcy led Elizabeth close to them. The joy emanating from his posture rendered any formal announcement redundant, yet propriety and his own pride demanded he speak the words aloud.

“I possess the utmost satisfaction in confirming that Miss Elizabeth has accepted my hand in marriage,” he announced, his tone ringing with resonance.