Her gaze was warm as she said with the utmost gravity, “We certainly must not shock the parson.”
“Not if you want to wait another week before we marry,” he retorted good-humoredly.
To his surprise, she bit her lip and looked down. What had he done now to distress her? Finally, she looked up at him through her lashes and said tentatively, “Fitzwilliam?”
What had possessed her to call him by his name in this setting? She was well aware—had pointed it out, in fact, with that astonishing perspicacity of hers—how viscerally he responded to the intimacy of her using his given name, and she accordingly restricted its use to moments of great physical closeness, of which this certainly did not qualify. What did she mean by it? For at least the thousandth time, he wondered whether she had any idea what a struggle it could be for him to be with her, to try to understand what she was thinking, not that he would give it up for anything in the world!
“Yes, Elizabeth,” he answered, keeping his voice as carefully neutral as possible.
“I have been wondering whether it would be better not to wait so long as that.”
Unable to credit that he had properly understood her, he asked, “You want to move the wedding day forward?”
“That… that is my thought, unless you would prefer not to do so.”
What had happened? Until this point, he had been the one in a hurry to marry, and she had wanted to wait. “Elizabeth, I believe you know full well that nothing would make me happier than to marry you as soon as possible”—preferably before this uncertainty drives me out of my mind, he added to himself—“but will you allow me to ask why you suggest the change? Is it for my sake, or your own, or perhaps because you cannot trust our ability not to stray?”
She colored becomingly. “It is a bit of all three, although I must admit that my primary motives are selfish.”
Did she have any idea of how he reacted when she said things like that? Unable to keep himself from touching her any longer, he cautiously and unobtrusively slipped his hand behind her and rested it on her lower back. With his thumb, he traced delicate circles over her spine, and smiled with satisfaction as he noted her response in the flushing of her cheeks and parted lips.
A trifle unsteadily, she said, “I must remind you that we are in church, sir.”
His eyes locked with hers. “And I am doing my best to encourage you to enter into the state of holy matrimony as soon as possible.”
“Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet’s piercing voice penetrated their private world. “You are needed! Oh, this is too vexing!”
They both started, and as Darcy finally took in their surroundings, he saw everyone’s eyes on them, including a clearly amused Mr. Bennet.
The parson coughed, and began to explain to Elizabeth her role in the ceremony, allowing Darcy a few moments to collect himself before receiving his own set of instructions, as if he could concentrate on anything else after Elizabeth’s words. He struggled to contain his impatience as they walked through the stages of the service. As soon as she took her position across from him, he caught her eye and mouthed the question, “When?”
She glanced around, and seeing everyone’s attention focused elsewhere, and allowed her lips to shape the word, “Friday.”
His heart pounded. Friday was only three days away—she could be his so soon! Intoxicated by the concept, he countered soundlessly, “Thursday.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, but she shook her head slightly. “Friday,” she insisted silently.
He smiled slowly in return. “Thursday.”
“If I could have the complete attention of the bridesmaid and the groomsman for just a few minutes,” the parson said with some acerbity. Elizabeth, looking guilty, turned her attention forward.
Darcy continued to watch her, attending only slightly to the proceedings. At first he was content to bask in her presence and the knowledge that she wanted to marry so soon, but as she continued to avoid meeting his eyes, he began to wonder if she thought he had been too forward for suggesting an even earlier date. It seemed unlikely, as he had certainly made similar proposals to her in the past few days with no ill effect, so perhaps this was another case of his worrying over nothing. But perhaps it was not—he cast a searching gaze over Elizabeth, hunting vainly for some hint as to her state of mind.
He wondered if he would ever gain a sense of certainty about her feelings for him, or if his life was to be a continual cycle of worrying that he had somehow offended her. Surely marriage would help, and time would allow him to rebuild the sense of confidence that had been shattered at Hunsford. He had misread her so badly before that, and her change of sentiment toward him at Pemberley had happened so rapidly; how was he to feel certain of her?
When the rehearsal drew to a close, and the party prepared to adjourn to Longbourn, he finally managed to catch her attention. “Will you walk out with me, Elizabeth? It seems we have much to discuss.”
She hesitated, clearly torn between a desire to be alone with him and wondering about the wisdom of such a course, given their history.
“I will even promise to make an attempt to behave, if that will help,” he said.
“To make an attempt to behave? Does that mean that you do not usually make such an attempt, sir?” she responded playfully.
“Perhaps it means that I frequently encounter provocation beyond the ability of man to ignore,” he retorted in like spirit.
She shook her head with mock gravity. “Clearly I have misconstrued you yet again; it had seemed to me that you enjoyed being so provoked, sir.”
With a slow smile, he said, “You know very well what I like, my dearest, and at the moment I believe you would like to see how quickly you can defeat my resolve!”
Elizabeth glanced up at him, and gave a dramatic sigh. “Then I suppose that I must try not to say anything too provocative, since you clearly understand me too well!”
Darcy could not help but laugh. “Do not stop for my sake, my love! But to the subject at hand, please forgive my impatience earlier. If Friday is what you wish, Friday it shall be.”
With a teasing look, she responded, “Whereas I was beginning to think that a case could be made for Thursday! Sir, I must conclude that you and I are in danger of becoming altogether too agreeable.”
He laid a hand on her arm. “You are not angry, then?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Not in the slightest! If I have some cause for anger, I remain blissfully unaware of it.”
He smiled with relief—another false alarm. “When you would not look at me in the church, I was concerned. I am glad to know that it was groundless.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I was trying to pay attention to the rehearsal!”
“Whereas I myself have long since given up on paying attention to anything else when you are present!” His gaze warmed. “I recall once, last November, when you came into the library at Netherfield while I was reading there. You selected a book to read—some Renaissance poetry, if I am not mistaken—and I recall spending fully half an hour concentrating on turning the pages of my book at appropriate intervals so that you would not discover how much your presence distracted me.”
“You were quite successful, then, as I was typically oblivious to any of it!” said Elizabeth with some chagrin. “Even then, so early in our acquaintance, you had noticed me?”