The late night of the ball was followed by a leisurely morning. Jane came by in the afternoon and they took the children to the park.
Elizabeth wondered what was happening between her soon-to-be family, but as no plans had been made for a visit today, she did not expect to see any of them. Jane asked after the evening and Elizabeth told her of Lady Catherine's appearance. Jane found it hard to find fault with any party, which exasperated Elizabeth, and she changed the subject.
The following morning, Georgiana and Fitzwilliam came to call. Mrs Gardiner obligingly monopolized Georgiana's attention, allowing Elizabeth and Darcy as much privacy as one might every have during a morning call.
"What happened yesterday?" She asked, without precursor.
"At the Fitzwilliams?" He clarified.
She nodded.
"Just words. Lady Catherine, and Anne, return to Rosings this morning."
Elizabeth sighed. "Well, then."
"In a strange way, her vehement opposition may have helped us win over the Earl and Countess."
Elizabeth smiled at the irony.
"But now, at least, we can think to the future. How long will you stay in London?"
"My father wishes to return home before the end of this week."
Darcy nodded. It was not unexpected. Mr Bennet made no secret of his feelings about the city. "You will be spending more time in fitting rooms and milliners, then, and less time wandering the gardens with me?"
"Only for one week. And then,"
"And then you won't see me at all."
"And then I will marry you and be well-stocked enough to not part from you for shopping or anything, for months. Possibly years." She lifted her eyebrows.
"That makes a week's absence easier."
She looked at his hands, wanting to take hold of them. She wanted a moment alone with him, however volatile or risky it might be. No. It was probably best that they spend most of their time together, in a room full of other people. She sighed, tore her eyes from his hands, because remembering what they had done to her, what effect he had on her, was hardly appropriate thoughts for a morning call.
How was she ever going to have appropriate thoughts during her morning calls after they were married?
"Are you all right?" He put his hand on hers.
"Absolutely fine." She nodded, less than convincingly.
Jane, Elizabeth, Georgiana and Mrs Gardiner formed their party, in search of Elizabeth's trousseaux. It started well but Elizabeth feared it would at some point descend into a discussion about what she would wear on her wedding night, possibly while she was wearing a potential night gown. And Miss Darcy would be there.
The thought put a damper on what would have otherwise been quite a charming series of outings.
Later in the week, Fitzwilliam insisted on meeting them. Enough was enough. He would have an hour with his fiance, even if it meant she had a dress fitting during her honeymoon. Mrs Gardiner laughed outright.
They met at Hyde Park. Jane, Georgiana, and Mrs Gardiner, took the lead, letting Darcy and Elizabeth wander at their own pace. They naturally got so far behind, they lost track of the others.
Darcy hugged Elizabeth's arm to his side, his other hand shamelessly caressing hers. The touch was intoxicating. She almost tripped over her own feet, she was so distracted.
"Are you sure everything is all right?" He stilled his hand on hers.
She nodded, then looked up, and decided to be honest. They might not have many further opportunities for frank discussion before their wedding, and this particular though was recurring so regularly, perhaps openness might be best. "Tell me," She sighed. This was hard to articulate, "In the library, at the ball,"
"Yes?" His trepidation was clear in his voice.
"I suppose I was wondering – is that what it's like?"
He took a deep breath, "Well, yes, if you mean what I think you mean."
She nodded, then stopped walking, realization hitting her forcefully.
"What is it?"
"I just realised."
He waited for her explanation.
She couldn't find the words, moving her lips to begin several times, before giving up. This was all new to her, but it was less so, to him.
Her expression said it all. "Yes," he confessed. "I wish it weren't the case, but I have... ah,"
"Don't say it. I understand."
"Do you?"
"Well, I know what you aren't saying, but no, I suppose I can't understand."
"It is a right of passage, of a kind, amongst... no, that is no excuse. I have nothing to offer you but apologies and regrets."
She exhaled, then nodded, and turned back to the walk. "I have never felt so entirely overwhelmed and beyond reason or control. It is difficult to imagine that you might have, with another woman."
"Neither have I, Elizabeth. I have experience of something, some part of it. But trust me in this, I have never experienced what I feel when I am with you, and what we will have, what we already have had, is new to me. It is overwhelming and surely you know that I was beyond reason or control, that night in the library."
She met his eyes in acknowledgement of that.
"Do you want me to tell you everything. I will – no matter how difficult to put into words – if you really wish it."
She shook her head, "Not now, not today."
"All right."
The walked on a little before Elizabeth spoke again. "When was it?"
He thought for a moment, "About eight years ago, and," he hesitated, ashamed, "and then two years later, again."
"With the same woman?"
"Yes, actually."
"Who is she?"
"A widow. She is a little older than I, of independent means, and she did not wish for anything beyond... what we had."
"You did not love her?"
"No." He said certainly, then went on, "I briefly, foolishly thought I did. But, no."
"Oh." She was almost relieved to hear it. He had believed himself in love. It did not make him innocent, but it removed any hint of malice or cruelty.
"We meet occasionally," he went on, "at large gatherings, but she would never speak of it, I promise you. She and I never became friends after ward. We are polite, no more. But she is discreet, and not unkind."
Elizabeth nodded. It all seemed so clean-cut and convenient. It was unnerving to think she would probably meet this woman one day. Her curiosity demanded a name, but at the same time, knowing seemed like a terrible burden. Knowing any of this was a burden. She wondered how her mind would ever drift from the subject again.
"I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Elizabeth." He stopped walking. They were hidden from view by a hedge.
She faced him, looked up and met his eyes. All her longing and desire rushed back. If he had been that close to someone else, she wanted to be closer, she wanted to give him more, and to have more of him, than anyone else. Two weeks seemed an eternity.
He reached down to kiss her, the look in her eyes intoxicating, but hesitated. Her look spoke of desire, but he might have misread her. Surely, she must be angry, she must feel betrayed, cheated, disappointed.
She reached out and took hold of his cravat, pressing her open lips to his, tasting his mouth as if someone had stolen it from her and she wanted it back.
He needed no greater assurance than that. He wrapped his arms around her so that she arched against him in order to continue the kiss. He caressed her face, her neck, her arms, and back.
Then she broke the kiss and clung to him, her breathing fast and warm against his ear. "I love you." She whispered.
He held her tighter, his own breath ragged. "Know that it will never happen again. I know the world in general expects men and women to behave differently, but know that I will mean my vows, that I will always be true to you. I am entirely yours."
She leaned back to see his face. "Thank you. It would break my heart."
He kissed her softly, almost chastely. "And mine." He watched her face, adoring, caressed her cheek, clearly tempted to kiss her again. "Perhaps we better find the others."