Elizabeth turned them the long way, back around to the front of the house, asking, “How is your sister?”
“All has been resolved as amicably as you can imagine, and of more import, she is much recovered from her sorrow. Much more herself.”
“That is wonderful news.”
“Rumor has you to thank.”
“Are you one to believe rumors, Mr. Darcy?”
He halted, turning to her. “I am not, but in this case I suspect the rumor to be true.” His fingers caressed her cheek, strong, yet feather light, a caress from which Elizabeth could easily turn away. She leaned into the warmth of him. “And while I know I permitted falsehoods to remain between us, I could not have meant it more when I asked you to call me Fitzwilliam.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she breathed. “In truth, that is how I think of you.”
He continued to stroke her cheek, staring down at her with breathtaking intensity. Elizabeth’s heart fluttered with the rapidity of a swirl of butterflies above a flower-filled meadow. She came up on her toes, needing to be closer to him.
Fitzwilliam closed his eyes, his lips moving as he softly counted.
“What are you counting?” To Elizabeth’s surprise, her voice came out a whisper.
“The seconds until I feel able to look at you without doing something that makes this the shortest courtship ever, moving us directly to the point of betrothal.”
She settled her hands against the front of his coat. “Would that be a terrible thing?”
His eyes opened. “You agreed to a courtship, and a courtship you will have.” His palm cupped her face. “We have forever together. There is no need to hurry past moments we will cherish.”
“It occurs to me, however, that we can have a courtship even if we both know, in our hearts, that it will end in an engagement.” And now that Elizabeth had made up her mind, and Fitzwilliam stood before her under a darkening sky, stars winking to life above him, cherished memories or no, she found she was done waiting.
“You present a very cogent argument.” He dipped his head.
“In truth, such a courtship may be the very best type,” Elizabeth murmured, and pressed her lips to his.
If his gaze had warmed her, his mouth was fire. Elizabeth leaned into him. His arms came up, strong and sure about her. His long body seemed molded to hers, as if they had both been formed for this very moment. Created for one another.
“Elizabeth?” Lydia’s voice called.
“Mr. Darcy?” Kitty’s added.
“Are you out here?”
“Mama says it is time to come in for dinner.”
With aching slowness, Fitzwilliam raised his head. His eyes sought hers, warm and questioning.
Elizabeth smiled. “If I am being honest, as we have agreed to be, I have never heard a single good thing said about a long courtship.”
His lips brushed hers again, light and coaxing. “Nor have I.”
Longing for more than that gossamer touch, Elizabeth again came up on her toes.
“Elizabeth?” her sisters’ voices chorused from around the corner of the house.
“She must be out here somewhere,” Lydia said.
“She is probably by the sundial. She always goes there.”
Fitzwilliam dropped his forehead to rest against hers, his breath ragged at the edges. “We are saved from our bad behavior, it seems,” he murmured. He took a step back and proffered his arm.
Elizabeth accepted, hoping the growing darkness hid her blush, though her heart pounded so forcefully, surely her sisters would hear.
