Page 164

The lovers arrived at Longbourn not long thereafter, and Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, informed them Mr. Bennet was the only family member awake at the time.

Elizabeth sighed in relief for being spared the prospect of introductions that might prove exceedingly awkward given the hour of the day. “Mrs. Hill,” she said, “Will you inform my father he has a guest?”

The older woman smiled knowingly. “Yes, Miss Lizzy.”

After a purposeful look into each other’s eyes, Darcy went away with the housekeeper. The elation she felt in her intended’s presence ebbed with each step he took, giving way to agitation.

What will my father say to Mr. Darcy? Will he mention the time they were together at Pemberley and our purpose in being there? Will he question Mr. Darcy’s constancy?

What will he say to me? Will he truly believe that my feelings for Mr. Darcy are genuine—that I truly love him, indeed, that I have loved him almost from the moment I first laid eyes upon him that fateful day when we arrived at Pemberley?

What will he say in the wake of such a revelation; that I have always fancied myself in love with Mr. Darcy, even when there was a general expectation that Jane was the Bennet daughter intended for him? What will others say? Will I be accused of having conspired against my sister all along?

Elizabeth raced outside the house hoping to clear her head of the wretched reflections which threatened to consume her.

Arriving in the garden, she paced the path for some time hoping and praying that what was taking place in the library was in no way distressing her father. She reminded herself again and again of her father’s high esteem for the Darcy family.

The manner of their precipitous departure from Pemberley at her own urgent behest came to mind.

I fear I may have been too severe in my rebuttal against Mr. Darcy’s character in response to repeated requests from Papa to confide in him my urgency to remove myself from Pemberley with scarcely a proper goodbye, and yet I somehow suspect he knew of my disappointed hopes.

Elizabeth examined her watch. Hardly twenty minutes had passed since she and Darcy parted. It seems as though Mr. Darcy and my father have been talking to each other for hours.

The agony. The distress. None of it would do.

I am not designed for such anguish. I must calm myself. Sitting on a nearby bench, Elizabeth started recalling the hours spent in Netherfield’s library with her newly intended, specifically the moment she relinquished her reservations and ended his suspense with but a single word.

Yes!

The happiness which this reply had produced was such as she had never felt before when Mr. Darcy expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be expected to with a kiss. Her first kiss; the tender brush of his soft lips upon hers, the lingering touch of his fingers upon her chin, and the warmth of his body so close to hers—indeed, everything a first kiss ought to entail.

Her remembrance of all the pleasures Mr. Darcy had bestowed during the wee hours that morning calmed her considerably, and in no time at all, he appeared on the garden path. Even more comforted by his smile, Elizabeth went to meet him. When he could, he seized her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Go to your father. He wants you in the library.”

“Will you wait here for me?” Elizabeth asked, her voice tentative.

Mr. Darcy raised her hand to his lips and bestowed a sweet kiss. He then tucked a loosened strand of her hair behind her ear. “I am not going anywhere, my love.”

Smiling, she was gone directly.

Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious upon Elizabeth’s arrival. He looked up. Their eyes met—his glossed over with unshed tears. Mr. Bennet extended his opened arms, and Elizabeth accepted his embrace.

“So, my dear child, I understand I am to be wishing you joy,” he said thoughtfully.

Elizabeth, not truly knowing whether to be delighted or dejected, merely nodded her head. Her father’s wry character was known to confound even her at times.

“I trust you have spoken with your mother and in so doing made her the happiest woman in all of England—or should I say the second happiest?”

“No—I have not,” Elizabeth replied a bit hesitantly.

“Why in heavens not, my dear?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“I wanted to speak with you first to put to rest any misgivings you may have as a consequence of the suddenness of all this.”

“When you say, suddenness, are you perchance speaking of the rush to the altar the gentleman has in mind?”

She nodded. “There is that.”