Mr. Bennet visibly relaxed. “Yes, Mr. Darcy, that I am. I hope you can understand why I felt moved to question you regarding your intentions toward Lizzy in such a situation. Indeed, it could not be avoided.”
Darcy nodded curtly, and both men glanced at a nearly apoplectic Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. No matter what anyone else might be persuaded to believe, she was absolutely certain her cousin’s intentions were motivated by malice. Without even so much as a glance toward any of the gentlemen, she pulled her hands from between Darcy’s, ripped open the library door, and fled from the room.
Darcy immediately made to follow her, his concern propelling him, but found himself prevented from crossing the threshold to the main foyer by Mr. Bennet’s firm voice. “Let her go, Mr. Darcy. If I know my daughter, she is only in need of some time to herself. I believe all will be well, but for now, I suggest you indulge her. She will return to us in due time.”
Elizabeth lay upon her bed, a stream of tears flowing across her cheeks and onto the embroidery of her pillow. So consumed was she by her roiling emotions and her fear of the loss she had very nearly incurred, they now eclipsed even her hostility toward Mr. Collins for his perverse machinations. After her cousin’s display, she could no longer deny that what she felt for Darcy was far more than simple warmth or excessive fondness. No, after the conversation that had taken place in her father’s library and her powerful reaction to it, Elizabeth knew in her heart she was far beyond mere friendship. She was in love with him. She was in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Should Mr. Collins’s words have been true, the disappointment Elizabeth would surely have suffered would have been beyond painful. She now knew that, had Darcy actually been engaged to his Cousin Anne—bound to her by honor and by duty—she would never have recovered from such a loss. The thought of living the rest of her life without him, without his searing touch, his ardent looks, or his superior society suddenly made the insistent pounding in her head increase to an almost unbearable level.
Jane’s concerned voice called to her from the other side of the door, but feeling unequal to facing anyone at the moment, Elizabeth choked back the hot lump that had lodged in her throat and ignored her. It was not long, however, before the last fragments of her composure crumbled completely. With a muffled sob, she shed bitter, resentful tears for what had nearly been taken from her—the only future she could now envision for herself—a future with Darcy. A future as his wife. Collapsing under the strain of the morning’s events, she soon cried herself to sleep.
Elizabeth did not return for several hours. When she did finally make an appearance, however, it was obvious to all in attendance that she had been crying. Darcy felt a new surge of contempt for Mr. Collins, but, if only for the sake of Elizabeth’s serenity, he swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat, and held his tongue.
Understanding their need to discuss what had occurred, Mr. Bennet decided to bend the boundaries of strict propriety and allow Darcy a private interview with his daughter in one of the smaller parlors in the rear of the house. The room was light and airy, and the last rays of the setting sun could be seen filtering through the sheer curtains. It was a room Elizabeth favored on those cold, wet days when she would find herself confined to the house for extended periods of time. It was, in a sense, a sanctuary for her, a refuge from the constant badgering of her mother and the tittering and arguing of her youngest sisters. She was grateful to her father for his unexpected gesture.
Leaving the door open, Darcy guided her to a sofa near the fire. To his surprise, she did not take a seat beside him but settled herself upon his lap and wrapped her arms about his neck, holding him close. He closed his eyes and enfolded her in his embrace, more than happy to breathe in her heady lavender scent and feel the warmth of her body pressing against his own. After several minutes of silence, however, Darcy felt compelled to speak and, in a low voice, said, “I am so very sorry you had to bear witness to such a ridiculous display earlier.”
His apology was cut short by Elizabeth’s firm voice. “There is no need to say anything, Fitzwilliam, and there was certainly nothing ridiculous about what transpired. I am afraid everything that was said today was uttered in a vindictive spirit and was aimed to harm us, perhaps irreparably. Wretched, hateful man! I cannot forgive his interference.” She drew away from him, but only far enough to gaze upon his face and brush an unruly curl from his forehead. “My love,” she whispered, “if you had truly been promised to your cousin, however could I have learned to live without you?”
Darcy’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. “Elizabeth!” he whispered urgently, “Please, dearest, will you not say it again?”
“Say what again, Fitzwilliam?” she asked as she proceeded to kiss his jaw, her hands leaving a delightful path of fire across his shoulders.
He closed his eyes briefly as he reached out his hands to still the movement of hers. “You called me your love, Elizabeth,” he said with a hitch in his voice. “I have dreamed of hearing those words fall from your lips for so very long. I have prayed every day to be granted the privilege of knowing such sweetness as it flows from your beloved mouth. Elizabeth, I beg of you, please tell me this is not merely another dream from which I will again awaken to disappointment.”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, “after all we have shared, after all that has passed between us, how could you doubt it? How could you not feel it? Indeed, I love you with all my heart.” After all she had allowed him, the idea that Darcy might need verbal confirmation of her love seemed incredible.
He reached for her, and she wrapped him tightly in her arms. Breathing deeply, Darcy buried his face against the curve of her neck and murmured, “I have loved you for what seems to me an eternity, Elizabeth. Indeed, I have long been in need of you, even before I came to know of your existence. You can have no idea how much it means to me, after months of despair and weeks of uncertainty, to hear you say you love me. You have made me so happy. Indeed, I could wish for nothing more, nothing more except…” The words died on his lips as he realized it was probably too soon to broach the subject of marriage once again.
“Except for what, my love?” she entreated, her voice soft and filled with tenderness.
Darcy raised his head, brushing her cheek with his. Their eyes met and then closed as he rested his forehead against hers. “More than anything, you know I wish to have you for my wife, yet I dare not ask again for fear of your rejection.”
Elizabeth stroked his cheek as she feathered her lips against his. Darcy inhaled sharply when he heard her whisper, “I assure you, Fitzwilliam, your fears are entirely unfounded.”
A burning hope suddenly flowed unchecked through Darcy’s veins. He forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths before saying, “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
Tears of love and emotion burned in her eyes as she drew her head just far enough away to look into his eyes once more. He loved her almost beyond reason, and only now did she truly understand what it was to be able to return such a love. “Fitzwilliam, I love you now so very dearly. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you for my husband. I am only sorry it has taken me so long to commit myself to you. You are truly the best man I have ever known. It will be an honor for me to become your wife.”