As he spoke, they moved forward together and soon stood before him. Elizabeth had to restrain a cry of indignation when he turned first to Fitzwilliam and said, “Are you quite certain you know precisely what you are undertaking with Miss Elizabeth? She will not be an easy wife.”
Elizabeth could not wholly suppress her amusement at his remark, though she endeavoured to appear properly indignant.
“Indeed, sir,” she said, turning to Mr Allen with a mock solemnity, “I believe it is rather I who ought to be asked such a question. As you will recall, Mr Darcy did not present himself so well upon his last visit here.”
Mr Allen’s brow lifted slightly, though the hint of amusement did not leave him. “Is that so, Miss Elizabeth? But perhaps you forget how well I know you. I do not know Mr Darcy half so well, yet I can easily supposethat you have already led the gentleman on a merry chase—and that, once you are wed, you will continue to do so.”
Beside her, Fitzwilliam gave a short laugh, his hand tightening slightly upon her arm where it still rested. “Oh, then I must beg to be fully informed of what my intended wife is capable of,” he said, with evident enjoyment. “I can attest that your supposition is correct. The dear lady has made our courtship most eventful—and rather longer than I would have liked. Indeed, she kept me waiting an unconscionable length of time before accepting me, and this present haste to the altar is merely to ensure she cannot change her mind.”
Elizabeth turned to him at once. “You mistake the matter entirely,” she returned. “I accepted you as soon as you gave me proper cause to do so.”
“Ah,” Mr Allen said, folding his hands before him, “then I see that I must examine not only the lady’s constancy, but the gentleman’s conduct.”
“I assure you, sir,” Fitzwilliam replied, still smiling, “that I stand ready to answer for myself—though I cannot promise my account will be as favourable as Miss Elizabeth’s.”
Elizabeth shook her head, though her smile lingered. “You may depend upon it, sir, that I shall offer a very different account.”
“Then I look forward to hearing both,” Mr Allen said. “Come—if your affections are as well settled as you claim, we may proceed to the more practical matters.”
When Elizabethat last retired for the night, she felt the full weight of the long day. Their meeting with the rector—though it had begun with a degree of awkwardness—had ended remarkably well, and before the hour was over, Mr Allen had offered his hearty approval of the match.
That business concluded, they had found their sisters in Meryton and spent some time visiting the shops before returning to Longbourn.Elizabeth had been pleasantly surprised to discover that the dressmaker possessed a partially completed gown which, with a few alterations, could be ready for her the following day. The thought of wearing a new dress for her wedding pleased her more than she had expected; and, while Fitzwilliam had been engaged at the bookshop, she had taken the opportunity to speak privately with the woman and order another garment, one intended for a far more intimate purpose.
The remainder of the day had passed in a blur of small occupations and hushed conversation, yet now, alone in her room, the stillness felt almost unreal after so much activity.
At last, she drew from her pocket the letter Fitzwilliam had pressed into her hand just before taking his leave that evening.
“Something to replace that other hideous letter,” he had said, bowing low over her hand and pressing a lingering kiss to it.
The memory brought a faint smile to her lips as she turned the letter over in her hands. She had no intention of ever destroying the other, regardless of what she might have implied to Fitzwilliam; for that letter had led to her understanding. Without it, they would not be where they now stood, so near to being wed.
She broke the seal and began to read.
Sunday, 9 August 1812
Dearest loveliest Elizabeth,
Earlier this evening we jested that the only letter I had ever written to you was that unfortunate one following my ill-fated proposal. When I reflect upon my state of mind at that time, I can scarcely comprehend that we now stand on the brink of marriage.
I find that I cannot retire without committing a few of my present thoughts to paper. Although I had the pleasure of being with you only hours ago, and have enjoyed your company almost constantly since meeting again at Pemberley, I am no longer content to confine my expressions of affection to those moments we share.
Tomorrow we are to wait upon Mr Allen, and although I haveendeavoured to appear easy on the subject, I cannot wholly deny a degree of apprehension given what he said to me this morning. That any man should presume to judge me worthy of you is something I might once have resented; now, I can only wish to satisfy him, as I must wish to satisfy all who have your happiness at heart. If he finds me wanting, I cannot say he is mistaken—but I hope he will at least allow that I am determined to improve.
You have already done more for me than I can properly express. When I consider what I was, and what I might still have been had you not spoken with such honesty, I am struck with a gratitude that must attend me for the rest of my life. That you should now love me is a happiness I do not deserve, though I shall endeavour, in every possible way, to prove myself worthy of it.
In less than two days’ time, I shall be permitted to call you my wife. The nearness of that moment makes each hour feel slower than the last—I wish for time to proceed with swiftness, and I can scarcely bear any delay or anything that keeps me from you.
You once endured a letter from me which I would willingly reclaim, were it possible. I can only hope that this may serve as a more pleasing substitute—one written without the arrogance that once guided my pen, and with nothing but affection and respect to recommend it.
Sleep well, my dearest Elizabeth. May tomorrow bring you no uneasiness, and may I conduct myself in such a manner as to give you no cause for it. I trust I shall find an opportunity to place this letter in your hands, for I would have it stand in place of the former.
I remain, now and always,
Yours, most faithfully and most devotedly,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth carefully folded the letter and placed it within her trunk, among her other valued correspondence and journals. She had not unpacked since arriving home a few days before, removing only what she required, while each evening she devoted a few minutes to sorting and packing the rest of her belongings into her travelling trunk, alongwith another that had been brought down for the purpose. The second was larger and would be sent on to Pemberley, to remain there, while the other would accompany her on their wedding journey.
