He tied his horses to a hitching post in front of the inn and offered Elizabeth his arm. “I received your note last night,” he began. “Somehow, that was the impetus I needed to write my letter to your father. I was struggling with what to say, and after I read your words, it was so much easier to write my own.”
“Your note had the same effect on me,” she said, looking up at him, suddenly feeling shy in his presence. “I have written my letter but left it open so we can include any additional details about our wedding or travel plans once we have discussed them.”
“I left mine open as well because I wanted to speak to you about it before I sent it,” he said. “I suggested I might obtain a licencewhen we return to town instead of calling the banns. You have met my Aunt Catherine—she will inevitably protest the marriage with her claims about of an engagement between myself and my cousin. While there is no truth to it—it has only ever been in her own mind—she could make a pest of herself if the banns were called. Both Anne and I have told her often enough that we would never marry, but she insists that my mother wished for it. While I was only fifteen when my mother died, she told me she wanted me to marry for love, as she and my father had done.”
“I have no objection to you applying for a licence, sir,” Elizabeth replied. “Mama will be ecstatic about the idea of a daughter being married by a licence; I am certain.”
“Please, love, call me William as my sister and cousin do,” Darcy said. “I would be fine with Fitzwilliam if you feel you must, or even Darcy, but most definitely not ‘sir’.”
“William,” she breathed. “I think that name suits you. Fitzwilliam is too stuffy and seems like a name to call you when I am cross with you. How did you come by such a formal name anyway?”
“It was my mother’s maiden name,” Darcy said. “It has been a family tradition to name the first son after the mother’s maiden surname. If we choose to follow the tradition, when we have a son, he would be called Bennet.”
She coloured at the thought of having children with him. “And what if we only have daughters?” she asked shyly.
“Then I hope they are all as lovely and witty as their mother,” he replied tenderly, looking down at her and covering her hand on his arm with his free hand. “And if they all have your eyes, I will be a lost man indeed.”
They stopped and looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. He started to lean toward her but then stopped himself, and clearing his throat, they began walking again. “Pemberley is not entailed, so there is no worry about a female child inheriting. My eldest daughter’s son could inherit, provided he took the Darcy name.”
“The entail on Longbourn and Mama’s inability to have a son contributed greatly to her obsession with her daughters marrying. That is why she chose to push all of us to be ‘out’ far too early, in my opinion. I realise Hertfordshire is very different from town, but 15 was too early for Jane and myself to be out, and I am afraid that it has been much too early for Lydia and Kitty. Lydia, as the youngest, has been too often indulged and has been allowed too many privileges for her age and level of maturity. I am ashamed that my father let her go to Brighton this summer with Colonel Forster’s young wife as a chaperone. I tried to warn him against it, but I hesitated to reveal too much of what I knew from your letter. Papa was more concerned about keeping the peace than ensuring that Lydia would not do something foolish and embarrass or harm my family,” Elizabeth told him, feeling embarrassed about making such a confession to him.
“And it worries you that she is there with the militia?” he asked.
“Jane and I have tried to check her behaviour, but Mama only encourages her, and Papa ignores her, as he does nearly everything,” Elizabeth said wearily. “Yes, I am worried about her.”
He drew her to a stop, seeming to recognise at least some of her struggle. “I love you, Elizabeth. Nothing will change that.”
“Apparently, not even my hurling insults at you will stop you,” she smiled up at him. “Now, enough maudlin thoughts. Let us go speak to my aunt and uncle and make our plans. My trunks are packed, and I am ready to return to Pemberley, this time as your fiancée. I am looking forward to spending time with you, William, and coming to know you better without any misunderstandings in our way.”
Darcy smiled at the thought. “I am looking forward to that, too. I want Georgiana to meet you before telling her we are engaged. She, um, she already knows a great deal about you from my letters, I think. I did not realise how much I had written to her about you until a couple of months ago when she asked me about you.” The tips of his ears were slightly pink as he made his confession.
She grinned at him. “What did you say about me in your letters? That I argued with you constantly? Or of my tendency to walk the countryside and turn up, uninvited, with my skirts covered in mud and my hair blowing about my face like a hoyden,” she teased.
“I told her of your dedication to your sister when she was sick and how your fine eyes were brightened by the exercise of walking across the countryside to tend to your sick sister,” he explained. “I told her how much I enjoyed conversing with you on all manner of subjects and how you had Miss Bingley tied up in knots to contradict herself to prove how ‘accomplished’ she was. I told her how you were not intimidated by our Aunt Catherine and how you stood up to her time after time. I also told her how much I have enjoyed your playing and singing.”
“If I had only seen your letters, I would have known how deeply in love you were much sooner,” Elizabeth teased. “Only a mandeeply in love could have seen good in all that, especially to claim he enjoyed my terrible attempts at playing and singing.”
“Richard also complimented your playing and singing at Rosings,” Darcy interjected.
“Yes, but there was no one else to listen to there,” Elizabeth rejoined. “Anyone would be pleasant to listen to.”
“If we were not on a public street, I would kiss you right now for your impertinence,” he said softly. “I enjoy your teasing me, but I often find myself thinking of a particular line fromMuch Ado About Nothingwhen you do so. In the last scene, Benedick says, ‘Peace! I will stop your mouth’ just before he kisses Beatrice. It is a ploy I may find especially useful once we are married, my love.”
She blushed brightly. “I think you fell in love with my impertinence, William,” she retorted, attempting to calm the thoughts of him kissing her. The brief press of her lips to his had been nice, but she knew there was far more she had yet to experience. “You were tired of all the Miss Bingleys of thetonhanging onto your every word and agreeing with you at every turn, and you were wildly attracted to my arguing with and contradicting you.”
He laughed. “There is some truth to that, I believe, Elizabeth,” he said, “but only a bit. I would say that I fell in love with your liveliness of mind and your ability to have an independent and intelligent thought. Your eyes drew me in, but I enjoyed our conversations and debates as well. We did not always argue.”
She laughed at that and then returned the conversation to their engagement and ideas for their wedding. “If I had not argued with you so much, we might have already been engaged and married by now,” she sighed. “William, I do not want to waitseveral months. If Mama is planning the wedding, she’ll go on and on about your wealth and will want a wedding that matches her ideas of what a man of your ‘status’ must surely want, and we will not be married before spring arrives. I would prefer to keep things far more simple, and I believe you will prefer the same.”
“You already know me well, Elizabeth,” he said. “I dislike large gatherings and being the centre of attention. I like things that are simple and quiet, without a lot of fuss.”
“Which is why I think waiting to tell Mama the wedding date until the last minute may be best,” she said. “My letter to Papa and Jane conveys this idea and asks they not reveal the truth of the matter until the last possible moment. I can stay in London to purchase any clothes that I need for the wedding without Mama knowing, which has the added benefit of my being able to select what I want without arguments with her about more lace and more embellishments. Also, if we do it this way, you will not be subjected to the endless array of parties and dinners Mama would deem necessary.”
“Elizabeth, you do not have to shield me from your mother,” he interjected. “I will be perfectly content to be with you in whatever company and celebrationsyoudesire.”
“I am not shielding you,” she laughed. “I am shielding myself as well. Mama will be in raptures that I have ‘caught’ a rich man. She will drag me all over Meryton to tell everyone and anyone about what nice things I, and by extension, she, will have as a result of our marriage and will embarrass me daily. I know what you think about my Mama, William, and I think it too, much to my shame sometimes. I positively dread her reaction to our news. I love her because she is my mother, but I do not want to think about how she will respond.”
“Elizabeth,” William began, “you are who you are in part because of your mother, for better or worse.” He grinned. “I did not mean to criticise those you loved when I was in Kent, and, as you know, I have my share of relations who sometimes embarrass me. I do not relish the idea of visiting every home in Meryton, but, my love, I will gladly do whatever you ask as long as you are beside me to help me through it.”
