Mark
Title: Mark
Rating: K
Characters: Darcy and Elizabeth
Setting: Hertfordshire, shortly after Darcy's (second) proposal
The days immediately following Miss Elizabeth Bennet's acceptance of Mr. Darcy's proposal of marriage were felicitous ones. His return to Pemberley, however, was inevitable. At least this time when he left her, Elizabeth had the reassurance that she would soon see him again.
He had drawn out his visit to Hertfordshire as long as could possibly be deemed reasonable, given that he and Mr. Bingley could no longer stay permanently at Netherfield. She was quite sure that the journey to this county had been an inconvenient one, but she knew that it had been worthwhile, for it had gone better than they might have hoped. Not only had Mr. Bingley been reunited with Jane, but Mr. Darcy had found that his affections for Elizabeth were now returned. And how!
Elizabeth smiled to herself as she remembered that day, not yet far in the past. Today she and Darcy were walking about Oakham Mount once more, the same beloved place where all had been decided between them. The day was a fine one for a stroll, and she was determined not to let Darcy's impending departure dampen her spirits. While Jane and Bingley lagged some ways behind them, but still close enough in sight to follow propriety, Elizabeth walked cheerily alongside her own betrothed.
Darcy, however, did not seem to match her gaiety. Supposing he might be just as displeased as she was that they were soon to be parted, and that he was merely less willing to hide it, Elizabeth endeavored to raise his spirits.
"You are thinking on some grave matter," she perceived, lowering her voice with mock solemnity.
He met her gaze then, and she was gratified to note his countenance soften slightly from its earlier pensive expression.
"Forgive me – I should not have believed I could think of anything else while in your presence."
This made her smile, and she reached for his hand. "Indeed, sir." Neither of them spoke of the fact that soon, he would no longer be in her presence. It was Lizzie's philosophy for that day not to speak of anything unpleasant, for she wished to make her final hours with Darcy as agreeable as possible.
His warm hand curled over hers, their fingers lacing together. For a time they walked on in companionable silence, that even Elizabeth, with her wish for merriment to drive away the sadness that threatened to creep into her thoughts, would not disturb. She observed the grasses that rippled on either side of them in the gentle breeze, wondering when she and Darcy would again have the opportunity to walk through them together. But shortly his footsteps halted, and she glanced over, realizing that he was staring at their intertwined hands.
Raising her hand, he scrutinized it closely, one eyebrow lifting as he noted the prominent ink stain that adorned her right index finger. Elizabeth supposed that an entirely proper lady would have taken greater care to keep her fingers from stain, but Darcy was now enough acquainted with her that he could have no expectations of her being an entirely proper lady.
"May I ask why you have become so lately prolific?"
"You may – but with the cause being here, I can hardly be expected to own to it." She smiled at him then. "It would only increase his pride."
His brows furrowed slightly as he realized that he was the person about whom she spoke. "That pride, you will allow, I have overcome to some degree – not without help." He regarded her for a moment, weighing his words. "You have been writing to me? Or… regarding me?"
Coming to understand that Darcy was still discomfited by the idea of her speaking to others about him, Elizabeth was quick to comfort him. After years of being the subject of others' – including hers, to her shame now – slanderous remarks about his arrogance, Darcy would likely require some balm to his pride. She would take greater care not to tease him too much and cause him further offense.
"I was going to send them to you as soon as I knew where you would be staying," she explained. He would arrive home to Pemberley eventually, yes, but she knew that he might have business to conduct in London as well.
"Ah." Though the smile did not quite reach his lips, there was one in his eyes. She had assuaged his fears, then. "You have already written me? As you observe, I have not yet gone, Elizabeth."
"I have learnt from Mr. Collins," she replied, with a laugh that she could not suppress, knowing the ridiculous of the comment. "He prepares his compliments in advance; I prepare my letters." She laughed again at the thought before adding in earnest, "In truth, I did not wish to wait too long to send something to you, because then I would not have to wait for something to be returned."
Darcy's eyes searched hers for a moment before he relented. "With that, I cannot contend."
Though he did not say so, Elizabeth gathered that he found the gesture touching, albeit unusual. Smiling, she pressed his hand. "I am too selfish a creature to give you more leisure to write your letters, as pressing as your business engagements may be."
"I can write with great alacrity," he reminded her, and the unspoken promise that he would warmed Elizabeth in the cool mid-morning. How she would occupy her time between the arrival of his letters, she hardly knew.
"Well," he continued, "since we are together now, you may tell me all of your news in person."
"Hardly as diverting," she asserted. She exhaled and strolled a few steps over the flattened grass of the path, drawing him along with her. "Or all that paper will go to waste – with you at fault for it."
Though he scoffed, a smile touched his lips. "Then what will you tell me?"
Elizabeth tilted her head back, considering. "I will tell you that… I shall write to all my acquaintances and relations to tell them of our news, only you must not think me silly to have made you my priority."
"I do not think you are… silly," he confirmed. And he looked at her with such tenderness that Elizabeth was glad of all the things he did think she was, most of all that she was worthy to become his wife.
Until that day came when they were united as husband and wife, she would have to content herself with those sweet gazes, with these chaperoned walks, and with whatever letters he sent her - at whatever intervals, brief or long.
As they altered their course to return to Longbourn, Darcy lifted the smudged finger and pressed his lips to it. The feeling of his lips left an invisible print of his affection, even dearer to Elizabeth than the ink stain caused by her writing. For that affection, she knew from the last year of his unwavering devotion to her, could not so easily be washed away.
AN: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review to tell me what you think – and perhaps to suggest what you would like to see in a later drabble, if you are feeling inspired!