Author's Notes

And so ends my last week of school, possibly ever. It seems only fitting that I spend it writing as I actively avoid studying for my exams.

Ever a Gentleman

The upsurge in Mrs Bennet's nerves occasioned by the betrothals of her two eldest daughters was such that not three days after Darcy had secured Mr Bennet's consent, she declared she could not be expected to plan a wedding in less than ten weeks if it was to be done with any degree of credibility.

The near identical expressions of alarm bordering on horror that overtook the young gentlemen's countenances at this pronouncement might have amused Elizabeth under different circumstances. As it was, she could only listen as Bingley spluttered an attempt to convince her mother that such a lengthy engagement was not necessary.

"Mrs Bennet, surely you do not do justice to your abilities. I should think you would be able to accomplish the arrangements in half that time." He had tried to say the last offhandedly, but the nervous energy in his manner belied his earnestness.

Mrs Bennet tittered. "You are all kindness, Mr Bingley, but it is decided. Ten weeks, at the least, for we must go to London and stay with my brother and sister Gardiner while we shop for the girls' trousseaus. Oh! And we cannot neglect—"

Unfortunately, Bingley's aversion to anything like disagreement deterred his reply, not that he was given an opportunity to make one. While her mother went on to explain in gratuitous detail all that she felt called for a trip to town, Elizabeth swore she heard a stifled guffaw come from the direction of her father's armchair, though she could not be sure since Mr Bennet chose that exact moment to rather abruptly turn the page of his paper.

When Mrs Bennet paused to take breath, Darcy tacitly intervened. "I must agree with Mr Bingley on this, Mrs Bennet. I have every faith in your capacity as hostess." He shifted in his seat, a look of some chagrin flickering over his mien as he went on. "Once the special licenses have been obtained—" Mrs Bennet, who had already been all attention, immediately stopped twisting her handkerchief. "—I see no reason for such delay."

Silence, thick with expectation, filled the drawing room. Then—

"Well…I suppose I could manage tolerably well with six weeks."

Darcy said nothing, but Elizabeth did not miss the almost imperceptible smile that touched his lips while profound relief openly washed over Bingley's face.

This time, Mr Bennet found himself quite unequal to concealing his bark of laughter.

.*.

When Mr Bennet could not tolerate another word about the length of trains or which courses were to be served at the wedding breakfast, he predictably escaped to his library. The only difference was that now, he extended his sanctuary to his future sons-in-law to spare them the excesses of his wife.

Jane and Elizabeth, for their part, were perfectly content to give Mrs Bennet reign over the wedding preparations. Along with not sharing in her affinity for protracted talk of lace and other fripperies, it was much easier for the daughters to choose more suitable fabrics or raise the décolletage of their gowns quietly after the fact than to turn their mother to their preferences while she was amidst the initial fits of infatuation.

So it was that the affianced were mostly left to their own devices. Their favorite way to pass the time was to go out into the countryside, sometimes to Oakham Mount, oftener without direction. Each couple acted as the other's—very distracted—chaperones, but not one of the four could bring themselves to fault Mrs Bennet this breach of propriety.

Whether unintentional or by design, the walking party would inevitably find themselves separated along these rambles. Bingley and Jane would set a pace so leisurely and pause so often, that they might have sat down for all the good the exercise did them—and no doubt they did in fact eventually find a shaded bench on which to rest rather than stand in the middle of the road gazing at each other.

Darcy and Elizabeth, on the other hand, roamed nearly all of Meryton during these excursions. It was on one such outing not very long after their engagement that Elizabeth found herself alone with Darcy.

The two had lost sight of Jane and Bingley quite an hour since. For once, the greater share of the conversation was Darcy's, for Elizabeth had chosen a subject on which he could not be silent: Pemberley. She listened with a small smile playing about her lips as he described for her his particular favorite spots on the grounds and which seasons had them at their best advantage, his eagerness to show it all to her evident in every word.

The coppice in which they presently found themselves was shaded and pleasant, so they settled on the dry grass and overlooked the expanse that stretched before them.

"I had almost forgotten. A letter from Georgiana came this morning. Three pages were not enough to contain her excitement and congratulations. She cannot come soon enough to see you again."

"I feel the same," affectionately said she. "When does she arrive?"

"Richard shall collect her from Derbyshire and accompany her here a week before the wedding."

Elizabeth titled her head in question. "So late?"

He did not reply right away. Instead, his hand reached over to catch hold of one of hers. Briefly, he met her eyes and then proceeded to remove her glove so that they were touching skin to skin. Both were lost in the activity as he tenderly traced along her wrist, her palm, her fingers, as though to commit its every contour to memory.

"I am not ready to share you just yet."

.*.

The peaceful solitude of the morning passed away, and all too soon, the time had come to return to Longbourn.

As Darcy took Elizabeth's—now gloved—hand to help her rise, she wrinkled her nose as she contemplated the stark contrast between these moments with her intended and the prospect that awaited her at home.

"Must we go?"

"I am afraid so," he laughed. "If your mother does not have some help, what is to keep her from threatening to have us married in July?"

To see him standing before her as he was, free of the confinement of refined company and formalities, one corner of his mouth curved in a puckish smile with such an expression of happiness and adoration suffusing his features so that it rendered him handsomer even than he was already, and all of it directed towards her, was rather more than she could bear.

"I love you."

Darcy's eyes widened slightly, and in them Elizabeth could see a thousand feelings fighting for ascendancy. Delight. Bewilderment. Something at once vaguely familiar and ineffable.

The power she had over him with just a scant few syllables made her feel for a moment overwhelmed, but after all, it was the first time she had spoken them. Oh, she had assured him she felt the same as he, every look and touch between them implied it, but never had she uttered it in so many words. Elizabeth wanted to be sure he understood she truly meant it, that she was not marrying him out of some misplaced sense of gratitude, and she had spent the days since his proposal trying to find the right moment. This declaration without forethought or ceremony was not what she had in mind, but she had not been able to help it.

Before Elizabeth could attempt to recollect anything else at all that she had purposed to tell him at such a moment, Darcy was closer to her than he had ever been, even when they were alone. There was the barest hesitation, a question in his eyes as he searched hers for its answer, and then he touched his lips to hers. He kissed her softly, slowly, one of his hands at her neck. Elizabeth's eyes fell shut, and after a self-conscious pause, she tentatively brought her hands to rest lightly on his chest. Darcy lingered for as long as he dared.

When they broke apart, both of them looked feverish, with overbright eyes and flushed complexions that defied the crisp bite in the air.

And Elizabeth had thought herself affected when he brushed a kiss against the back of her hand.

It must be said that in that instant, Darcy had every intention of escorting Elizabeth directly back to Longbourn. He had every intention of repressing the urge with which every fiber of his being begged him to comply, salvaging the tattered remnants of his senses, and allowing the expectations of gentlemanly conduct impressed upon him for a lifetime to act as his guide.

Such were his intentions, but that was before Elizabeth reached up to run her fingers gently through his hair.

Scarcely knowing how it happened, she was in his arms again, and his mouth moved over hers frantically, searching hungrily, and she did the same. Caught irretrievably in the moment, Elizabeth parted her lips, almost unconsciously. It was all the encouragement he needed to pull her body flush against his own and kiss her more wildly, desperately.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Elizabeth felt Darcy tear himself away, recoiling as though struck, and when she opened her clouded eyes, it was to find him several paces away looking wretched.

Some minutes passed in silence punctured only by their rough, shallow breathing. Elizabeth hopelessly tried to quiet her heart as it continued to tumble recklessly in her breast.

Finally, Darcy's agitation forced him to speak. "Elizabeth, I—Elizabeth, forgive me. I never meant—"

Eyes flashing, she offered a look that told him there was nothing to forgive as clearly as if she had spoken aloud. When he opened his mouth as if to argue, she blushed a little before saying, "I do not believe I did anything to stop you." She was not entirely surprised to see him blush as well. "Unless, of course, you feel I too should apologize?"

His burning gaze was answer enough.

Coming to her once again, Darcy took up her hands to cradle them against his chest and gently pressed his forehead to hers. "Six weeks," he said plaintively, cursing every single hour, minute, and second that stood between them.

Elizabeth gave an unsteady laugh. Never had six weeks seemed so interminable a length of time.

.*.

On their walk back to Longbourn, Elizabeth was struck with a thought that nearly made her laugh at its absurdity.

"Perhaps you should ask the Colonel to bring Georgiana earlier after all."

End Author's Notes

Dear Miss Austen,

I beg you to forgive me for borrowing your characters and placing them in less than delicate situations which are then described in indecorous detail. I fear I am—and shall continue to be—a repeat offender.

Love,

Red