Chapter 1
"… In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, Mr. Darcy continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted."
~Pride & Prejudice, Chapter XVI of Volume III, Jane Austen
The remains of that day at Longbourn was not so unusual, not remarkable at all, taking into account that the acknowledged lovers within the house passed the hours together in a solitary corner of the drawing room, laughing and talking to one another as they had done for well-nigh a fortnight. Charles Bingley's eyes were so dotingly fixed at the singular pastime of gazing at the angelic face of his beloved Jane; and her hand was so deftly placed within his, as to make Miss Elizabeth Bennet once or twice sigh aloud at the spectacle of a young couple so violently in love.
This was not to say that the sight before Elizabeth was wholly unpardonable to her wits; for there was a pang of envy within her heart at the easy display of such affection. Her cheeks donned a rising blush rather becoming to her classical beauty, yet although she was indeed envious of the happy pair, and a little embarrassed at being a witness to their unreserved adoration, Elizabeth could not find fault with the exhibition of joy shown by her sister and soon-to-be brother.
Nor could Elizabeth Bennet see any culpability in the couple's willingness to flaunt their feelings so effortlessly. For unbeknownst to most everyone else in the room, Elizabeth Bennet, herself, was indeed a lover betrothed.
Elizabeth was certain that she was happy about the whole business of accepting Mr. Darcy's offer of marriage earlier that day; her mind was quite fixed at being sensibly engaged, and she was indeed in love with the man himself. It was all precisely what she had come to want in her life at present, except for her disappointment in her own lack of nerve at the prospect of spreading the news of her engagement throughout the entirety of her family.
The neighborhood had certainly not warmed to Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire, and although Elizabeth, in knowing him better, had grown to like him; to love him, really; she had done very little to hearten the improvement of his character in the eyes of her family and friends. She had truly kept the whole affair with the gentleman a secret unto herself.
Elizabeth knew the truth of Darcy's good nature, for his recent demonstration of benevolence toward she and her sister Lydia, the kindness and concern he had shown at Lambton, and his acceptance of the Gardiners were indeed all the proof necessary. Elizabeth was now sure of his devotion toward herself; and she was certain that her family would come to know Mr. Darcy in this good way as well. In time, everyone would learn to love the man—of this, she was confident; almost.
Whether or not Mr. Darcy would learn to like her family was a vexation of noteworthy proportions. It was not something Elizabeth could ponder at present, for any notion of it made her shudder as if she had caught a January chill. Those were thoughts for another day, another time, and perhaps another story, for these thoughts simply did not complement Elizabeth's sudden happiness.
Elizabeth glanced at her sister Mary, who sat in a chair near the window; her bespectacled nose buried in a small, blue, leather-bound volume undoubtedly written by Scott. She wondered that Mary might ever wed, and she questioned whether it could possibly be a match inherent of love. She was sure that Mary would have little to say concerning Elizabeth's own engagement, once it was divulged, other than to inquire as to how very soon Elizabeth would be leaving their father's house for that of her new husband.
In her sister Kitty, Elizabeth surmised a fortune in marriage akin to their youngest sister Lydia, though she certainly hoped that it would never come to pass. She prayed that Lydia's misfortune to have wed in haste to avoid ridicule would pose a lesson in prudence to the other silly sister, and she thought perhaps through the good society surrounding Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, her sister might come to benefit. As to Kitty's thoughts on Elizabeth's own marriage, the latter girl did not find much comfort or delight in such speculation.
Elizabeth's eyes darted quickly toward her mother. Resourceful conceit was evident on the countenance of the elder woman as she smiled and tended to her needlework by the fire screen. Without a doubt her mind was busy composing what words of awe and compliment should be put to print in the papers concerning her dearest daughter's engagement to Mr. Charles Bingley of Netherfield, and surely she mused at how agreeable it was to be for the neighborhood to hear the banns of marriage announced on this very Sunday. Mrs. Bennet was to have yet another daughter wed perhaps before the New Year, and Elizabeth did ponder her mother's response with some displeasure, upon her discovery that the sum of the woman's good luck would lately be manifest at three.
Were Elizabeth's parents to congratulate her on receiving such an offer? She was impatient, yet uneasy to ascertain such information. She thought perhaps her father would be disappointed, and her mother vexed, both attitudes borne from a false impression of the man who Elizabeth had chosen to accept. Or, would any objection that her parents might have been overlooked by Mr. Darcy's position in society and condition of wealth? Perhaps that would be far worse than any other aim to accept him into their family circle.
Elizabeth had no desire to hurt a soul, not her mother nor her father, and certainly not her new and cautious lover, but she did desire her own happiness to be complete; and all of her joyful thoughts turned in the direction of the man who once had made her weep out of anger and misguided impressions, but who now made her feel a warmth throughout her body and mind, each and every time she did happen to look his way.
Across the room, seeming as if he busied himself by weighing his own pleasures and pitfalls to his recently made match, sat Fitzwilliam Darcy. The truth of the matter of the day was coming to occupy the gentleman's thoughts entirely, and the reality of it certainty hit him square between the eyes; that he was now, undeniably, somewhat legitimately and justifiably, engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Jane Bennet was at times keen in her perceptions, and she noticed that the friend of her betrothed was far more restless at Longbourn that night than she had ever seen. "Perhaps Mr. Darcy is anxious to be at Netherfield?" she put forward the question to her dear Bingley.
Charles Bingley took leave of his employment of excessive adoration of his beloved, and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Darcy. When he turned back to Jane he twisted an odd sort of grin and slowly shook his head.
"I cannot make him out."
"Perhaps this is a cruelty for him?" Jane conjectured.
"Possibly," replied Bingley, "He does not fare well in company such as this. He is in possession of his own mount, and he may depart whenever he desires."
"That is not precisely what I meant, dearest."
"Do you mean—our love?" Bingley doubted. "You mean to say that our happiness is a cruelty for him? I think not, for he seems sincerely pleased that it has come about."
Jane looked at her sister Elizabeth, and so also did Bingley, and then they both took another glance at Darcy. The gentleman had always cast his gaze a great deal at the lady when they had been thrust together in society, and as a result, the lady had regularly born a blush upon her cheeks; and this night was no exception.
"Have you ever wondered," Bingley addressed his darling with unexpected mirth, "that Darcy could be in love with your sister?"
Such a statement, for many reasons, did not surprise Jane. She did not feel as though it was her place to disclose the confidences of Elizabeth and her speculations stemming from her visit to Derbyshire that perhaps Mr. Darcy might still be in love with her after all; but Charles had been there as well. Perhaps he knew more than he let on.
Bingley chuckled beneath his breath. "My friend over there is duty driven—no doubt he will soon settle on some female acquaintance in Town—or perhaps even his cousin. I have heard gossip to the effect that his aunt has arranged such a match."
"Certainly, it cannot be his desire to settle," Jane felt the truth of her words deep within her own heart, for she did love her sister dearly, and wish for her all that did constitute her happiness, if it was Mr. Darcy who did indeed make her happy. "Does he truly love her; do you think?"
"Who?" Bingley replied with a distinct arch of his brow, "his cousin or your sister?"
"His cousin," Jane was quick to define by a whisper and a blush.
"I do not know," Bingley sighed. "He has never chosen to discuss the matter with me, yet do you not suppose that a man so inclined to be in love would be apt to state it plainly? I do know that it was my inclination—once I knew of my own mind. Certainly Darcy does know his own mind quite well."
Jane replied with a shy, yet delighted smile at her lover's newly found assurance. She left the conversation at that, for she did suppose that Mr. Darcy would not renew his addresses to Elizabeth, as her sister had said. The man's own pride would certainly prevent it from ever being so, and certainly Elizabeth had no desire for Mr. Darcy to repeat his offer.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, however, was increasingly miserable at Longbourn; and euphoric, and how two such conflicting feelings could meld together within a man's mind, to Darcy, was yet to be determined outside the written pages of a romantic novel. He longed to sit beside Elizabeth, much in the manner that his friend sat with his own betrothed—but that, on this occasion, was indeed impossible. It would not be a likely occurrence until Elizabeth's father gave his consent to the match, and Darcy's wits and modesty did forbid him from advancing into Mr. Bennet's library with such a purpose in mind and making the application on this night.
Darcy had not yet fully discussed the details with Elizabeth of going to her father, and he felt that he should do so, for her sake; for he did not want to tempt her ire and reproach by any variety of insult that he could so involuntarily devise. He wanted to gather his own feelings and thoughts together into a semblance of some sort of sense, he sought to determine precisely what he would say, so as not to make a complete fool of himself; and as yet, Darcy had not come by the opportunity to consider and choose his words.
The gentleman was made to take a sudden and anxious glance at Elizabeth. He wondered what she thought, he questioned what she felt, and he had to contemplate if her feelings did tend to be the very same as his, for it appeared as if each countenance, hers and his, was in possession of an identical sort of blissfully bewildered daze.
Darcy's eyes fixed on Elizabeth's as together they shared a hesitant glance between them. She blushed, and he sighed, and either lover was far too uncertain of their tacit betrothal to continue an occupation of which they both pined for so desperately.
Darcy realized that he knew so little of Elizabeth's life, and she knew so little of his own. They had never really talked of superfluous things, as lovers ought to do once they are in love. They had by no means said those things to one another that perhaps seemed trifling and ridiculous to others, but were so wholly important in coming to be acquainted with the one that you adore. They had never spoken much of their feelings for one another, at all.
Darcy's face felt flushed and hot to his touch when he reached up a hand to run across his cheek and chin, and he fidgeted in his seat as every muscle in his body tensed, and his leg wanted to quake and tap the right heel of his boot on the floor, in an unnerving reel brought about by such disguise and desire.
The palms of his perspiring hands came to lie on his knees, smoothing the fabric of his breeches; and the pulsing of his nerves made him want to scramble to his feet and shout out anything halfway daft, even if he could not conceive of why he should be tempted to do such an unseemly thing. He stood up from his seat, giving the briefest, most adoring smile to Elizabeth as was allowed by clandestine decorum, for he could not help himself, and he applied to his friend as he swallowed, "Shall we say good night, Bingley?"
Charles Bingley sighed, knowing his friend was usually sensible in his judgment of such elementary things. He stood up, and placed a tender kiss on Jane's hand. Elizabeth was quick to clamber to her feet and steal an affectionate, yet private, doe-eyed glance at Darcy; and he was eager to receive her regard. In her direction he whispered quite hastily and simply, "Tomorrow, then," and Elizabeth gave a clear smile of receipt and gratitude.
The gentlemen claimed their mounts by the front doors of the house, and Jane watched them leave the grounds from the dining room windows, with Elizabeth ever so close behind her; as miserable, and as obliged as she could ever be to see Mr. Darcy go away.
The cool air of an autumn evening felt good on Darcy's face, and at once he came to be somewhat better, though he had no reprieve from the thoughts and notions spinning round in his head concerning his state of affairs. There were no natural words for his condition, for to say that he was besotted only indulged a mere fraction of his state of wits.
He was lovesick, true; he was happy, yes; he was nervous and anxious, for absolutely certain; he was bothered beyond good regulation for a man of his condition, indeed; and he had come to be somewhat undisciplined about it all.
"Dinner was quite good this night," Charles Bingley made conversation. "Better than most I have had at Longbourn, I would say."
Darcy stared blankly, almost obliquely at his friend. "I cannot now remember what it was that we ate," he had to admit.
"Partridges and chestnut dressing," Bingley replied. "I was speaking of the partridges that I shot with Mr. Bennet on his land, yesterday."
"I thought it was simply a small chicken, well done."
"Certainly not," Bingley objected, knowing full well that Darcy was aware of the subtle distinction between wild and domestic fowl. "I was plenty hungry after walking out today—say, Darcy," Bingley bent the subject, as nonsensical to him as it was, "where did you and Miss Bennet go off to earlier this day?"
Darcy did well to conceal his discomfiture, even if the unnerving twitch of his cheek with the clenching of his jaw was something near to suspicious. "Sorry?" he queried, crossly.
Bingley smiled, for he knew better than to press his friend for answers and have a hope of receiving a rational account of events. Darcy was too curious for his own good, and far too uncomfortable not to glance back at Bingley as their horses trod on, side by side. Bingley continued to grin, and Darcy, unpredictably, was forced by impulse to follow suit, and his face went red for being caught at such a game.
"I beg of you, Bingley," he finally choked out an anomalous reply, and then said, "I am not quite sure what you want of me."
For once Charles Bingley was inclined to be silent on matters of life and love, on matters of anything at all. He cocked his hat to the side, a sort of blockade between the likes of gentlemen, and kindly left Darcy to his private thoughts, and that suited a timid new lover quite well—quite well, indeed.
Elizabeth set aside her needlework and went early to her room. She spent the better half of an hour occupied at brushing her hair dazedly in front of the looking glass, when she finally realized that she had never been so fastidious about her hair before in the whole of her life, and she quickly set down the brush on the top of the vanity.
She could keep her secrets no longer, and so she scampered to Jane's bedchamber and peered through the doorway. Jane was sitting on her bed; lost in her own thoughts of love and fancy, and when Elizabeth entered the room unannounced her sister gave a start.
"Lizzy," Jane sighed. "I thought that you had gone to bed?"
"Jane—oh, Jane," Elizabeth could not mask an anxious giggle as she secured the door. "There is something I must tell—I must, before I burst from keeping such news."
Elizabeth's situation was immediately disclosed to the one person who would understand, yet to Elizabeth's astonishment Jane replied with some shock and incredulity. Elizabeth was quick to give her assurances that all was true, and that she herself was indeed betrothed, being joyful at the prospect and delighted with her choice.
There were some questions on Jane's part, and Elizabeth answered them as honestly and forthright as she was able, nonetheless with a little bit of teasing; and her sister was satisfied, and wished Elizabeth great joy. Elizabeth nearly wept for ridding herself of part of her feelings of apprehension in telling someone in her family of her circumstances; and she truly did find herself utterly happy.
"When did this come about?" Jane asked.
"Today—when we walked toward Meryton. Mr. Darcy did say that his feelings had not changed, and I said that my feelings had. It was such a relief to finally confess it, Jane—to say it aloud and not be afraid that he would slight my affection, or worse, that he would think me ill mannered."
"You are not ill mannered in the slightest, Lizzy," Jane decried.
Elizabeth blushed and her eyes turned away for a moment. "I suppose not," she sighed, "yet there are times when I feel myself so. I nearly ruined my own chance for happiness by believing in what others did say. I believe that I did Mr. Darcy great harm, and now I am heartily sorry for it."
"Perhaps nothing would have come to such a happy end, had you not behaved as you had done?"
The thought of this caused Elizabeth to regain her joy, for perhaps Jane had made a very good point. If Elizabeth had not listened to the deceitful words of others, Mr. Darcy may not have heard her own criticisms of his character; and conceivably they would have ended as strangers.
"But you said nothing of an engagement this night—to anyone," Jane disturbed Elizabeth's thoughts, "Certainly, Mr. Darcy should have gone to Papa."
"No!" Elizabeth quickly voiced her relief. "I wondered if he would, yet we had spoken nothing of it earlier. There was so much for us to say—we said what we could, mostly in regret for our behavior toward one another this last year, and there was hardly time for anything else. I shall give him praise and understanding, and say that he was not yet prepared to go to Papa, for I have come to know that Mr. Darcy is not a man of impulsive spirit."
"You are very considerate, Lizzy," Jane smiled. "You will make him a fine wife."
Elizabeth's smile was insuperable given her own pride in the matter, as she did tend to want to tease herself at the disclosure of this happy occasion. "I intend to be the very best wife," she affirmed, "indeed, I do—for Mr. Darcy could not have found a humbler, unprejudiced girl in all of England, had he tried just a little harder."
As she closed her eyes that night, happily tucked into bed, Elizabeth recalled those words of promise. She did not truly know what it was to be a lover, or one so affianced, although she had often tried to conjure such likely feelings so as not to be wholly amazed on the day that it did in fact happen to come her way. Her youthful speculations had been wrong, for nothing could have prepared her for the true delight and longing, and anxiety of the actuality of being a woman so gladly betrothed.
She would always press herself to be a good wife, for although she considered her mother somewhat of a failure at such a task, and Elizabeth did not find comfort in the example of Charlotte Collins as an affectionate wife, she did indeed have a fine model in the manners of her Aunt Gardiner. Elizabeth so wanted to please Mr. Darcy; and instead of giving in to sleep, she began to think of all the ways in which her desires for excellence could be accomplished. She sat up and wrapped her arms about her knees, and in the darkness and solitude of her little room Elizabeth's mind made count all the ways in which a wife should love her husband.
"Do you care for a game of billiards, Darcy, or cribbage perhaps? Something more settling before we retire?"
Darcy had been intent on pacing the length of the drawing room, a glass of ruby-colored port in his hand, the liquid swirling in the vessel by the gentleman's own design and for his own pleasure. "Thank you, no," he spoke, easily and unaffected—yet from a detachment peculiar to Bingley.
Truly, Charles Bingley was far more at ease, comfortably sitting in a chair, occupied at watching his friend form an imaginary groove, back and forth, on the floorboards of the house, and calculating each pass on the watch suspended from his own fob. "Darcy," he was finally made to sigh, "I would ask if you are in some sort of trouble—if I did not know you as well as I do to deem such a possibility to be ludicrous at best."
Darcy abruptly halted, and turned toward Bingley. "You are happy," he said in haste. "All has gone well with you—yes?"
"Happy?" Bingley was rather taken by surprise.
"Yes—at ease with your situation—your attachment, to Miss Bennet."
"Well," Bingley drew out the word, "of course I am."
Darcy let out a discomfited sigh. "I ask because…" he stopped, and redirected his course. "When it had happened, I had recently gone away, and although your letter did express your joy fairly eloquently on the merits of your engagement, Bingley, you did never tell me how you feel—you did not say what it is like to be a couple."
Bingley sat forward in his chair, his hands clasped before him. He saw nothing impertinent in the inquiry of his friend. "At first I suppose I was quite anxious," he replied. "I did not know what Jane was to say—or what her father was to do. I suppose there was always the chance that she was to refuse me, or that Mr. Bennet would not give his consent."
Darcy found that difficult to believe, and his skepticism shown on his face; although now, he was not quite certain about his own situation. "I take it," he grimaced cynically, "that it went well."
"No trouble at all," answered Bingley. "The family has been very good—very warm, in fact. Elizabeth Bennet is particularly kind. She is a very good girl and keeps her family at different occupations so that we may be left to ourselves. And Jane—she is truly a joy sent from heaven, Darcy."
Darcy smiled, mostly on hearing Bingley's account of Elizabeth's interference between a meddlesome family and the new lovers. From all that he ever heard and had witnessed of Elizabeth Bennet, she was undeniably a dear and steadfast sister and a good and devoted daughter.
"Within a day or so, I felt quite at home at Longbourn, and I was invited to come out with Mr. Bennet, round his farm, and to come shoot with him whenever I like," Bingley continued. "I think they will be welcome relations, Darcy. As for being in love—there is nothing so fine, and it suits me very well. How every day I look forward to the touch of Jane's hand in mine," he sighed, "and a divine kiss, I simply cannot express."
Darcy did not reply, but tipped down the last of his drink and walked away to set the glass upon the mantle. For a moment he stared into the bright flames of the fire burning in the hearth, and then once more he turned to face his friend, and declared without pause or reservation, "I too am engaged to be married, Bingley."
"Engaged?" came Charles' astonished response. "You did not say a word!"
Darcy laughed. "I have not had the occasion to do so," he answered with a smile so extraordinarily fetching upon his face as to convince Charles Bingley that what he said was genuine.
"When?" Bingley was on his feet and eager to know all. "How?"
"Just today," Darcy provided a succinct response, as was his rule. "Just."
"By letter? You have had a reply—or perhaps there was no need for one?"
Darcy looked puzzled, until he realized what notion his friend must own. He laughed once again, so poignant and delighted a chortle that Bingley himself chuckled, although he knew not what he laughed about.
"It is not what you think at all, Charles," said Darcy, still smiling; and then the gentleman spoke with such tenderness of feeling that Bingley had not the inclination to question the choice of his friend once the lady's name was voiced clearly.
"I have made an offer to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and she has accepted."
Bingley seemed a bit bewildered, but yet, not very astonished at all. "I knew it," he whispered to himself most triumphantly. "I was certain," he said clearly, "but then again—not! We thought it unlikely, Jane and I—nearly something impossible!"
Darcy was content to allow his friend a moment to speak aloud to himself. It seemed to Darcy a natural thing to do, or a least one that he did not care to take up great concern, although he could have taken issue with the claim that his attachment to Elizabeth Bennet might be labeled as 'impossible'.
"You are—both of you, in love?" Bingley was bold to inquire.
Darcy's face colored somewhat at the intimacy of the question. However, he of all men understood a friend's concern.
"It would seem that we are—both of us, in love."
"How long?"
This time, Darcy did well to conceal his mirth. "I cannot speak for the lady, but I have been in love with Elizabeth for some time. Indeed, for quite some time."
"Since meeting with her at Lambton?" Bingley could not help but try to pin down some sketch of time to satisfy his curiosity.
"Longer."
To this irrefutable reply, Charles Bingley had no response. He stood before a young man, who had been his friend for some time, and yet he had not really known him—he had not truly been certain that Fitzwilliam Darcy had been so in love with Elizabeth Bennet, nor she, in turn with the man that he would propose, and she accept.
Darcy chose to disrupt the private musings of his friend. "Are you to wish me joy, Charles?" his voice was low, and collected, yet Bingley gave a start.
"Of course!" Bingley soughed out in bemused pleasure, eagerly grasping Darcy's right hand, a clasp brought forth in friendship, and indeed brotherly approval. "I am very happy, Darcy. We are to be more than friends; we shall be family. Yes, I say all has gone well for us!"
"Indeed," Darcy smiled in agreement, though he did raise a curious brow, a gesture to rib, "but I have yet to speak with Mr. Bennet."
"You shan't have a care about it," Bingley grinned and slapped his hand on Darcy's shoulder. "He is not such a worrisome fellow, after all."
At Netherfield that night, in a well-appointed bedchamber, sleep did not come easy for Fitzwilliam Darcy, for true bliss had in no way been a frequent caller to the man. He felt better about his situation, upon hearing from another that such emotions in a gent were not so rare. That elation and apprehension were not such odd bedfellows, after all.
Although inexperienced in such a certain circumstance as marriage itself, Darcy did know how to be a lover; but not a lover so betrothed to the woman of his utmost desire. A single life, mainly conducted with good regulation was in the past, and he knew it as true. It was not something that Darcy could pine away for, as the prospect of marriage seemed apt and good; marriage, that was, to Elizabeth. Perhaps there was some advantage in allowing oneself to feel frivolous and playful now and again. Indeed, it would be his greatest pleasure to sit in a solitary corner of a room with Elizabeth, to talk and to laugh, and to be in love.
Darcy thought of what words he was to say to Elizabeth's father, yet nothing was as sincere, nothing from the depths of his soul nor even the simplest of words that he could ever utter aloud would truly reveal what elation he honestly felt upon Elizabeth's acceptance and approval. Darcy would simply tell the truth of it all, and communicate to Mr. Bennet how this had all come about—well; mostly he would recount the truth.
He eyed the grayish outline of the clock on the mantle as he lay on the bed linens, counting every tick, the sound of which echoed against the walls of the moonlit room, and Darcy's arms came to rest underneath the pillow below his head. The pendulum within the case ticked on and on, and upon the chime of two, Darcy could not possibly question his own feelings or think another thought, rational or not, that prevented his dreams of being near Elizabeth. His elbows brought the pillow round his ears, blocking out the noise; and Darcy, a young man so happily betrothed, finally fell asleep.
Charles Bingley stood in the drawing room of Longbourn house the following day, his friend somewhat impatiently waiting behind. Bingley's smile was so very bright, and his affectionate embrace of Elizabeth's slender hands upon his greeting her, told of his good information and his sincerest joy to have been informed of the engagement.
Elizabeth was pleased that Darcy had told his friend, and she nodded her cautious appreciation to her soon-to-be brother, and the twinkle in her eyes beamed her endorsement toward Darcy. He, in turn smiled with devotion, and anyone could have seen how well he and she suited one another—anyone, who had the presence of mind at Longbourn to have noticed.
Mrs. Bennet, ignorant of all that went on before her, interrupted by supposing that Bingley and Jane, and Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth of course as chaperones, and Kitty, all walk toward Oakham Mount. Surprisingly, in the audience of Mrs. Bennet, Darcy spoke up, eagerly expressing a great desire to see the place.
"I have heard that it affords a fine prospect of Meryton."
"Indeed," countered Mrs. Bennet curtly, "the finest as seen anywhere—even, I image, Derbyshire."
Darcy turned to Elizabeth, and the corners of his mouth upturned in a keen smile. "What do you think, Miss Bennet? Is it the equal of a Derbyshire landscape?"
"While I did find the scenery in your neighborhood to be a sight that could offer a girl a lovely revelation," Elizabeth replied playfully, referring to their meeting, "I think you should not be disappointed with the view that you perceive, once we are atop Oakham Mount."
"I have no doubt," nodded Darcy, delighted by her cheeky reply, and offering up one of his own, "that you are quite correct."
It was settled that Kitty certainly did not wish to walk out at all, and their mother, believing her other daughter and Mr. Darcy to be uncommitted in every way, bid the four a pleasant journey. Mr. Bingley and Jane walked ahead, as close to one another as they could be, and Darcy and Elizabeth brought up the rear, leaving some distance between. They did not walk shoulder-to-shoulder, arm in arm, as lovers, for they would be far too conspicuous a pair until they reached the lane, beyond any person's prying eye.
Elizabeth had always been an excellent walker, but in desiring so dearly to be nearer to Darcy, she gave a little stumble on a wayward mound of grass, and the gentleman offered his arm to steady his companion. Elizabeth eagerly slipped her gloved hand through the crook of his right arm, past the folds of his greatcoat, a triumphant grin on her pretty face for her deception, and Darcy easily drew her closer.
They were in no hurry to match the pace of the other lovers so far ahead, but both intended a leisurely meander. "Mr. Bingley seems very pleased with the news of our engagement," Elizabeth spoke first.
"Yes," Darcy smiled down at her, "he says that he is very happy."
Elizabeth marveled at her lover's turn of phrase. "My sister Jane is delighted as well."
"Very good. I am very glad to hear that someone at Longbourn does approve of the match. Bingley says that you have been of great use to them—that you have been kind enough to keep your family occupied so that as lovers he and your sister may become better acquainted."
Elizabeth laughed, and in watching Darcy, she saw him laugh as well. He was handsome to be sure, but he was beautifully striking when he laughed, and when he smiled; and Elizabeth hoped to see such a sight more often than not.
"Perhaps Mr. Bingley will be so kind as to return the favor, for us?" Elizabeth surmised.
"Somehow," Darcy concluded, "I believe it is his objective."
"Have you and he been friends long?"
"For some time, yes. My father was acquainted through business with Bingley's father, though we did not pursue a formal acquaintance until after my father's passing. We met at a dinner party and discovered the association of our families, and we found that we made clever friends, being that opposites in temper are oftentimes well-matched."
Elizabeth found herself amused by his easy conversation and ready humor. "Indeed," she replied, "you are quite different."
"Bingley is a very good man, and I am sure that your sister will find life with him to be a happy union."
"You are, both of you, very good men," Elizabeth acknowledged openly. "My sister and I are very fortunate to have caught the attention of such men, as we shall bring so little to the union."
Darcy stopped and turned toward his betrothed. "You and your sister are deserving, Elizabeth, of every good thing in marriage. There is so much to be treasured, aside from a financial arrangement, and you merit the notice of good men, dowry or not."
"I fear some would not agree."
"And I am wholly thankful for it, or we might not now be walking this lane together," Darcy applied his wisdom. "You are to be desired for your good opinions and sense, Elizabeth, and cherished for your companionship, and your beauty. You will bring a great deal of brilliance to my house, and to my life; and I hope and pray that I shall be what you desire and need in a husband."
Elizabeth took in a breath for the display of his persuasion, "I am convinced that you are, sir—that you will be the finest husband for me. Each time I look at you, I see more goodness than I had come to see before."
Darcy's heart was without doubt touched by the sincerity in which Elizabeth had delivered her words. Her words could not, at this occasion, have been easily spoken had not they been said in truth.
"I do love you, Elizabeth" he sighed, his courage assembled high, "and I have come to miss being near to you. Last night most of all."
Elizabeth's equanimity was overcome by Darcy's sudden pronouncement of love and desire. "Each time you leave Longbourn, I too miss you dreadfully," she answered, "I feel as if I am holding my breath—all the while. I like you very much."
Darcy was puzzled by her reply. He had made the first move as a lover; he had in fact acknowledged that one particular word, that one sentiment to Elizabeth, although she had stopped ever so short of a similar avowal. Darcy would have preferred that she had spoken her own expressions of love, not like, though it had been many months that he had been patient, in hopes that his vast affection for Elizabeth would someday be returned.
Elizabeth, at once realizing what she had done, or not done, suddenly felt a profound mortification. Her teeth bit down on her lip and she found herself unable to say anything more, for she thought that she could lose Darcy's admiration if she persistently felt herself required to apologize for every inequitable phrase that sprang from her lips. She had no reason for not offering Mr. Darcy proof of her love, for she knew that she loved him dearly, though she was far too young and inexperienced to know how to state it plainly; Elizabeth Bennet was naive in the ways of a lover so betrothed to know precisely what to do.
