Swatting at a mass of cobwebs, Darcy fidgeted at the prickling sensation which traveled from his skull down to his toes, the soft, sticky cling of the webbing worse than the creatures who made it.
At least Elizabeth would not have to endure it–there would be no trace of the offending webs after he had crashed into them with all the finesse of a prize bull.
Wiping the last of the cobwebs from his brow as they came face to face with a wall, or more likely a door, Darcy glanced back at the way they had come.Given all the doors downstairs, one would think there would be more than this one?
“Did you notice any doors on this level?” Darcy asked, all thoughts of doorways thrown from his mind as she brushed against him accidentally.
Tilting her head up toward him, she held his gaze. “I… I did not notice any,” she answered softly.
“That is odd,” he managed, his eyes flitting to her lips.
“Indeed. Quite odd. I suppose though, that a place as old as this holds many secrets… It brought us together after all. That is to say. Here? Yes. That must be what I meant. It brought us here?”
Hand reaching to grasp the lever, Darcy forced himself not to take her into his arms; the lack of space between them maddening.Why could he not simply tell her of his feelings? Here they would not be interrupted; but was this a proper place? Dusty, cobweb laden. No more than a hallway really.
Gulping, Darcy could feel his head drifting downward, the will to resist lessening with each passing moment. Gripping the lever, his gruff voice filled the small space, “I am curious to discover where this leads.”
Brows pinching, he wondered what he had meant.The door? Or the two of them?
A pair of hands reaching behind his head followed by a soft pair of lips on his caused the candle in his left hand to bounce, his other falling from the lever as he answered her kiss.
The scent of her, the fire of her lips against his, she became all he knew until the hot sear of wax met his hand; a hiss interrupting their touch.
“Forgive me,” he hurried, “the wax… it is rather hot.”
Chuckling, she took the candle from him, setting the holder upon the ground before pulling his hand to her, her eyes narrowed as she examined it.
“A bit red, but I do not think it is likely to blister. A little cool water and some honey ought to tend it… unless you would rather see a physician of course?” she remarked, her eyes twinkling.
“No. I trust your judgement,” he answered, a grin forming as he regarded her fingers still wrapped around his. Letting his thumb rub over the back of her hand, he wondered at the softness of it, of how her hand felt as if it belonged there, in his.
He ought to tell her. Dusty passageway or not, there would never be a better time.
“Mr. Darcy,” she rushed before he had a chance to speak. “I never had the opportunity… the opportunity to tell you how I feel. How your feelings are returned. That is to say, that if you hold affection for me, I can only tell you that I have fallen in love with you. Hopelessly and against all reason, but equally true and welcomed. I am being forward–incredibly so–for here we are, alone in this passage and I, I kiss you and confess how I love you, though so few days have gone since we first met. It is folly… yes?”
“If this be folly, then I delight in it. Why not, when the woman I love has not only kissed me, but confessed she loves me in return?” Bending to touch his forehead to hers, he declared, “My wish is to ask you to marry me, though should you desire, I am patient enough to court you properly before I do?”
“Is this a proposal?” she giggled as she worked to meet his eyes, her face aglow. “I would listen to it if it were, rather than wait.”
Heart fit to burst, he considered the woman before him.She was his match in every way… and she wanted him to propose!
Holding her hands to his chest, he smiled as he never had before.
“My dear, wonderful Elizabeth. I am but a man, flawed and imperfect–in society’s eyes I am worse than that–yet, I offer my heart to you to keep forever, my hand and all I own to be yours. If I were an eloquent man, I might speak of the fineness of your eyes, your humour, your loveliness–all the things I love about you. And I do love you. Most ardently. Please, do me the honour of accepting my hand; of spending the hours before us, until all our years are done?”
“Given that I love you, have kissed you most scandalously, and cannot imagine my life without you… I say, yes, Mr. Darcy. I accept your hand and heart, and offer to you my own.”
Bending in the small space to capture a kiss, Darcy’s senses and thoughts swirled.
She agreed. She loved him! Him. A man despised by much of society, who, though rich, had little hope of being accepted by the Ton. She had offered him the greatest gift any could; her heart!
Pulling reluctantly from her lips, he cupped her face; her smooth skin welcome under his hand. “I suppose I ought to seek out permission to marry you from one of your relatives–your uncle, Mr. Gardiner perhaps? Or would you prefer I still write to your father? I want to do this right.”
Her hand coming to rest on his, she sighed, “My father should be consulted; but I think after we have spoken to Uncle Gardiner would be best. Father would feel better knowing Uncle approved… and I selfishly admit, I do not wish to wait months before we can speak of this to those outside our families. You do not mind, do you?” she asked, her brow crinkled as she studied him. “That I would only have family know until Uncle approves?”
“Not at all; it is best. Your uncle and father, after all, deserve to hear of it first–to approve of it first.”
“What is that cloud which has passed over your face?” she questioned, a hand tilting his head toward her.
