Elizabeth clapped, delighted. Her laughter echoed back to her, accented with the claps of her hands.
Fitzwilliam turned to her, his eyes dark and deep and brimming with mischief. It was a look she had not seen before, and she determined right then it was a look she would provoke as often as she could. Standing off to the side, she teased, “Clapping is too easy. When one comes to a place like this, they must share their wisdom with the world.”
“Or they could remain silent,” Fitzwilliam teased.
“Oh, no, that I cannot allow.”
“Very well. Tell me what you wish to hear, and I shall take pleasure in saying it.”
“You ought to know that I expect much more of you by now. Or have you not yet discovered something that shall amaze the public and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb?”
All seriousness, he replied, “I have.”
Elizabeth’s heart tripped. “Really? Then, by all means, amaze us.”
Raising her fingers to his lips, he bowed over her hand and said, “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
“I love you, Eliza—I love you, Eliza—I love you, Elizabeth Bennet—Elizabeth Bennet—Bennet.” Everywhere Elizabeth turned, she was surrounded by Fitzwilliam’s declaration.
Dozens of witnesses looked at them,nodding and whispering, but he did not seem to notice them. Silent, taciturn Fitzwilliam Darcy stood in front of her, his heart wide open for all to see. The uncertainty in his eyes, the quickness of his breath, told her this was not the proposal of a man assured of a positive reply. She could not bear to see his doubt. Raising his hands to her face, she ran her lips over his gloves.
“Oy, Darcy! Itisyou!” a loud voice, an unwelcome voice, an odious voice ruined the moment as surely as a bucket of cold water dropped over one’s head.
Elizabeth turned to see Mr. Wickham, grinning like a drunk fool, a half dozen of his cronies staggering behind him.
“Where is your wife?” she asked. That was as close as she could get to dashing him with frigid water, and the effect was satisfying.
His smile disappeared. “Probably spending all of my money.” His tone was bitter. Wickham’s friends hooted and howled behind him.
Elizabeth imagined her sister and her new husband foolishly squandering all of their money on gloves and boots and bonnets that would be scuffed and in tatters within the year living a champagne life on a budget more suited to ale.
“Speaking of money,” Wickham clamped one hand on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder, steadying himself. “Allow me to offer my heartfelt congratulations. Now that we are to be brothers—”
“You shall get nothing from me. And the lady has yet to answer.”
Elizabeth felt fumes course through her veins. How dare Wickham ruin what was building up to be a promising, charming proposal. She could throttle him.
“Tut tut,” Wickham cackled. “We both know that a lady such as Miss Elizabeth would never refuse a gentleman of fortune and consequence.”
Through clenched teeth, Fitzwilliam asked, “Why are you with these … men … when you ought to be with your bride?”
Wickham shrugged, too foxed to heed the underlying threat in Fitzwilliam’s tone. “Why bother? She’ll move into Pemberley with you, and everyone’s happy.” He flailed his free arm in the air.
Elizabeth was shocked he could think such a thing. Did he not understand Fitzwilliam’s character at all? He would never be welcome at Pemberley, nor anyone attached to him—
The full extent of Fitzwilliam’s declaration hit her with a force that knocked the breath out of her lungs. A union with her would forever attach Fitzwilliam to Wickham, and yet he was willing to endure the connection. Because of her.
Until that moment, Elizabeth had not truly understood the depth of his love. Breathless, she looked up at him, her heart brimming in her eyes. To think that Fitzwilliam loved her so ardently, so thoroughly. And, oh, how she loved him! With every inchof her being, every thought, and every heartbeat, she loved Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Wickham belched and tightened his grip on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder.
Elizabeth’s anger boiled over. If Fitzwilliam was willing to endure a connection to his worst nightmare, then she would ensure Wickham knew how little they desired his company. “I love my sister, but I cannot shield her from the consequences of her actions. Nor do I feel obliged to spare you the results of your choices. I do, however, expect you to at least pretend to be an attentive husband to Lydia.”
He scoffed.
Elizabeth’s restraint snapped. “Or do you limit your attentions only to gullible maidens?”
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Alexandra draw a dagger from her hair. “This rascal givin’ ye trouble, Lizzy?”
