This is the second to last chapter... i think. Things can always change if the muse declares it so. I hope you're enoying it. and thankyou to all the reviews. And just so you know, i've neglected my other stories just to finish this one off for you. Feel special. thanks again, and enjoy,
For the second time in an hour, there came a knocking on the study door Darcy was sulking behind.
"Good God, I just wish to be left alone," he agonized to his companion in misery, Mr. Jones.
Mr. Jones did not answer him, simply bid the new intruder enter.
"My dear," said Mrs. Jones to her husband upon entering the room, "Mr. Darcy," she said, ultimately locking eyes with the younger man. "Sir, you must come with me now. I'm afraid something terrible has happened. Elizabeth-"
But she was cut off. "Elizabeth! Is she alright? Where is she? Tell me woman!" he roared at last, losing quickly whatever patience he might have started out with.
Rachel Jones succeeded in schooling her smile. It would not do at the moment. For though Mr. Darcy might not notice her amusement in all his fury and agitation, her husband surely would, and then his sharp mind might put two and two together. But would he disapprove? Or did he wish as she did that Darcy would not be so self sacrificing. It was not a romantic thing to do at all! But Darcy's right eye was now twitching and she was afraid he might grab her and shake her at any moment.
"She went to The Anne. She meant to go speak with her father, to make him see her side of things, to show him that she truly loved you and was happy with you. But… her father…" Mrs. Jones' words trailed off, leaving the rest to Mr. Darcy's currently very active imagination. His eyes widened. She took up where she left off. "He will not let her leave the boat. He has paid your ship's crew off handsomely to keep her there as prisoner. Your captain however refused to follow any orders but your own sir. Rene went with her, and escaped the boat before Elizabeth could, bringing word to me of all that had transpired."
Darcy darted from the room, no word or thought foremost in his mind but an achingly sweet image of his Elizabeth branded there. He had given up pirating only to find that he might have to actually put the self declared title to purpose. For surely he would have to use all his pirate trickery to board a boat of hired thugs and recapture what he had rightfully stolen in the first place.
It is a testimony to Darcy's somewhat harried state of mind that he did not merely think of offering an even larger sum of money to the ships' crew and skewering them with one of him infamous Darcy Glances. Fear for one much beloved can do strange things to man and woman.
It did not take long to reach the village's small port. And when he did, looking striking and windblown atop his black horse, he was rather confused. The Anne did not look like a well-guarded prison. He wondered if he walked up on deck if he would be stopped or not. Was not the easiest way most likely the best? And didn't his swaggering pirate arrogance demand he make fools of them all by simply sweeping aboard in broad daylight? Yes!
A faint chime of church bells struck the hour: noon. An appropriate time for a dramatic confrontation. And so Darcy dismounted and mounted a look of cold fury and imposing confidence upon his face. He did indeed sweep aboard the ship, daring all nonexistent threats to step his way. But once on the ship's neat deck he was all alone.
Except for Elizabeth. She stood, a mischievous spark at the corners of her smile, at the curve of the front of the boat. It didn't take long for Darcy to reach her side and take her possessively into his arms, his gaze still sweeping warily and guardedly two and fro.
"Elizabeth, my lovely Elizabeth, you have not been hurt. Are you ready to escape?" he asked her, finally coming to look into her eyes. Strangely, he noticed a spark of mischief there as well.
No, Mr. Darcy, I do not need to escape."
He frowned down at her, and she tamed her hint of a smile into a look that was quite serious. She stepped from his arms, placed her fists on her hips and looked up his imposing height with defiance in her eyes.
"Mr. Fiztwilliam Darcy, I, Elizabeth the Conqueror, bold pirate Queen of the seven seas, have commandeered your vessel, have oerced yourmen to my side, and have kidnapped a most famous pirate."
He stared, baffled by her words and the laughing delight that shined from her fine eyes.
"A pirate queen must, logically, have a pirate for her king! You, Dread Pirate Darcy," she said with a sneer and a smirk, "have refused to marry me, leaving me to take drastic measures. I must tell you sir, that in this matter, I will have my way." She thought for a second. A sparkling, tense silence filled the air between and around them. "Consider yourself kidnapped sir!"
Oh how he wanted to laugh at her. Oh how he wanted to take her in his arms an squeeze her (in frustration as much as in joy). "But Elizabeth, you must understand that-"
She stopped him. "No. We can talk later. It is past noon. We've not much time. Rene," she spoke, looking over his shoulder, "please bring Pastor Ryans out. The groom has arrived."
Mr. Bennet spotted the church just as the bells struck noon. He should have found it much sooner, but his agitation had interfered with his navigational skills, and he had lost himself on the narrow, uncomplicated streets of the tiny seaside village more times than seemed possible.
He rushed at the door… only to find it locked. Quickly, he ran around to the side of the dusty white building and found a window situated close to the ground. The window stood at the back of the church, and Mr. Bennet's gaze traveled up the isle balanced on each side by simple wooden pews and to the couple that stood just below a preacher.
Elizabeth's dark curls hung loose in back, and Darcy's arms hung to his sides. If the enraged father had paid more attention to the pair, he might have noticed that the woman before him was a tad tall to be Elizabeth, and that the presumed Darcy's hair was straight, without the wavy disarray that the master of Pemberly's hair often fell into; that the man's frame was slighter, the woman's hair a slightly different shade.
But, being an agitated father, he noticed none of this, and instead, flew into a fury. Rushing back towards the door, he banged loudly with his fists, paying no heed to the pain the useless pummeling sent up his arms. He yelled, loudly, angrily: "Unhand my daughter villain! I will never forgive you Elizabeth! Never!"
Mr. Bennet though, as we know, was not a silly man. He knew when he was beaten. Walking back now, a dejected slump to his step, he moved back to the window. When Elizabeth exited this church, it would be as Mrs. Fitwilliam Darcy. Elizabeth Bennet, her father's favorite, replaced by Elizabeth Darcy, Mistress of Pemberly. He gazed in the window once more, but could not stomach to watch even the couple's backs as the ceremony was silently performed. He could not hear the words, but they reverberated in his mind nonetheless. He turned his back to the scene and once again walked to the church door.
Should he go back to the boat?
Should he stay here to see his daughter?
No, she was no longer his daughter. She was Darcy's wife. "I am very much alright," she had said to him happily. She had fallen in love with a good, sensible man. But Mr. Bennet had never wanted his daughter to fall in love. Love was fine for Jane, and lust for the other three silly girls he'd produced, but not for Lizzy. She was a sensible creature. And love was simply not a sensible emotion. It assuredly made its victims insensible. He knew! He had loved his wife when he'd married her. Or… perhaps that had been lust.
Such musings occupied the fretful father while much lighter subject matter was being discussed at the alter inside the church. The "preacher," a young man who'd not yet taken his vows, and therefore did not have the power to exercise any marriage vows, was fascinated with his guests. He had read what there was to read of Jonathan Richards' work and admired it very much. He asked questions of both young writers as they stood in the charade of a marriage pose, and cast furtive, curious glanced toward Elaina. Jonathan did not like this, and frowned everytime the young clergyman's eyes skimmed over his friend. At one point, he took Elaina's hand possessively and stared pointedly at the clergyman.
"I… I'm sorry for staring Miss. Jones, Mr. Richards," he stammered. "It's just that the resemblence is amazing!" He turned to face Jonathan more than Elaina. "Surely this is the "woman whose shadow lurks in my heart," he said, quoting a line from one of Richard' more desperate works. "I am sorry sir, for you are such an original and imaginative writer but… all your leading ladies carry the same physical attributes and… she is just it! Dark hair and eyes and skin, obviously intelligent with some sort of mysterious quality about her. Surely it is no coincidence!"
Elaina turned her attention from the clergyman to Jonathan. He was blushing! Had he written her into his stories? If he had, it sounded as if he had been more than kind in describing her.
But hadn't she done the same with him? Hadn't someone fitting his description fit into each one of her stories? She blushed now, feeling silly for fixating on him so. He was real, and faulty, and human just like her.
But was the young clergyman right? She locked her eyes with his, and after an eternity of sparking silence, Jonathan spoke. "What time is it?"
The clergyman answered, "Half past the hour sir."
"Do you think it's safe?" asked Elaina, turning around to stare at the double doors at the end of the long isle, wishing that she could have seen what might have come from that sparking tension. He had been acting differently towards her since her slip of the tongue at the inn. He had kissed her. And that had certainly never happened before. Now he walked down the church isle and carefully opened the door. Stepping out into the bright afternoon sun, he turned his head this way and that, looking for persons of potentially enraged demeanors. After all, he was playing Darcy, the man Mr. Bennet would hate after today. Not a good role for my own safety, thought Mr. Richards vaguely.
Unexpectedly, Elaina was at his side. "Is it safe, do you think?"
"It seems to be so," replied Richards.
"Do you think it worked? Do you think we deterred him? Do you think Elizabeth and Darcy had enough time?"
"I'm quite sure they have. Only… I'm not so sure if Elizabeth would be able to coerce him into marrying her. He has very specific feelings on this matter Elaina."
"She's giving him no choice Jon. If they have had time, then they are married, mark my words," she said, smirking up at him.
He frowned in reply. "You always think you know more than me don't you Elaina?"
"Why yes, Jonny me boy. But it is only because I do. Matter of fact-"
Lips crashed down on lips and Elaina was effectively stopped from saying whatever it was she had been about to say. Actually, she was effectively stopped from thinking whatever it was she had been about to say. In all truth, she was stopped from thinking of anything at all.
Jonathan lifted his head and studied her face, her reaction.
"Mr. Richards, what was that for? I did not propose to you."
"No, but really you did not propose to me the first time either. Or, you did not mean to. I…" He stopped, realizing belatedly that they were in full public view. Pulling her back into the church and shutting the doors behind them, he asked the young clergyman (who had seen the tableau outside the church and had promptly acted as if the church was in dire need of cleaning) to leave them in private. The young man did so quite promptly.
"Elaina, I think of you as my very best friend. Even after all these years apart, you are still dearer to me than anyone I met in London, or anyone I left in America. And I only left because you were so persistent that I should follow my dream, that at least one of us should succeed in the world. I knew you had no feelings for me then, and it broke my heart, and so I left." He was across the isle from her, his hands placed firmly on the back of the last wooden pew, staring strongly at something ahead of him.
"I? I broke your heart? But if that's the case, then that implies that you loved me then."
"I did. I do." It was hard for him to say it. He hadn't said it all those years ago because he had been scared of losing the friendship he so loved. But now he knew that the chance of something more with her was more important to him than the friendship he had left in America.
Darcy had said to take what he wanted, to conquer fear and chase his dreams until he attained them… or until they melted pleasantly into his arms, murmuring "yes" to one all important question. A determined gleam lit his eyes and he took one large step over the isle to take Elaina once more in his arms.
"You confuse me Richards. Until this afternoon, you never so much as offered me your hand to help me from a seat!"
"It's because I knew I couldn't take it. It is because I knew I'd pull you here, into my arms, and then you'd slap me and never speak to me again."
This revelation certainly shocked the elder Jones girl. When she'd regained her composure enough to speak, it was to settle his fears. "I have not slapped you yet have I? And you've done quite a bit more than hold me in your arms." She smiled sweetly at him.
"I know. And it's brought me to a wonderful conclusion too."
"Oh has it? And that is, sir?"
"That you will marry me." He bravely rested his forehead against hers, refusing to let anxiety and doubt creep into his heart. She would not still be here with him if she was going to reject him. He was quite sure of this.
And he was quite right. Elaina said nothing, but it was not for lack of anything good to say, she simply didn't know what to say first. "When?" was what finally came out.
He kissed her again.