She smiled, accepting the point. “When I was sixteen, after a year of thinking about how you had helped me, even when there was no real profit after you obtained your grandfather’s pistols, I thought of you as my idealisation of the elder brother I never had. From sixteen to eighteen, I suppose I looked up to you in a fraternal way, the only unrelated man in my life I could count on.”
“It was an honour and privilege to be such.”
“When I was nineteen,” she began, then took a ragged breath; “I firmly and unambiguously did not fall in love with you, and at twenty, I was still trying my best to not love you, as that path could only lead to heartache. I knew you must be too far above my station to have any serious designs, and I hoped I could protect my heart until you married and left my life entirely.”
I was just staring at her, and finally asked, “Can you say that without all the negatives.”
“I am in love with you. I never dreamed anything could come of it, but you are everything I ever wanted in a husband. Like you, it has not been the work of a moment. It has been years in the making, and it began as all good loves should—with respect… admiration… friendship.”
“Are you convinced of that without knowing any more about me than the few conversations we have had?”
“English courtships are absurd. Couples seldom have real conversations before marriage. Propriety compliant conversations are more of a hindrance than a help. I believe we know each other better than the vast majority of couples when they take their vows. I know my own heart, and your character. I need nothing more.”
I was thoroughly enchanted by how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over her face, became her. I had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful, and I simply pulled her toward me.
Our first embrace lasted for quite some time, just holding each other, smelling each other’s scents mixed with the smell of oncoming rain, feeling how well our bodies fit together.
Our first kiss was magical, and sweet, and powerful, and the sign of things to come. It had the hint of banked passion that could have easily overwhelmed us, the feeling of safety like coming home to a warm fire from a driving rain, the feeling of contentment at finally being in exactly the right place at the right time.
Eventually it ended, as all kisses must, though in our case, it might have ended just slightly sooner as it was starting to sprinkle.
She laughed, and we spent a few minutes discussing how to go forward.
“May I speak to your father?”
She thought about it a minute. “He may resist, but delay will help nothing. Even if we courted for a month, he would still be tetchy. I must go to breakfast now; come at calling hours. Bring Mr Bingley to distract my mother and sisters.”
I laughed gaily, walked her down to get my horse, then walked her to the gates of Longbourn before returning to Netherfield for my own breakfast.
14th October 1811 1 o’clock in the afternoon
“Miss Smith!”
“Mr Jones!”
That was how our ninth encounter began, though me kissing the backs of both hands was new, and might well be the basis of a new tradition.
As Elizabeth and I had agreed before we were rained out, I gave Bingley enough history to know part of our story. I obviously did not mention that I bought my grandfather’s pistols from her when she was not yet fifteen, but said we knew each other from London, and the names were a private joke.
At the time, I was not certain which made my friend’s brain hurt the most—the fact that I was capable of a private joke, that I was friends with a marriageable lady, or that I could not possibly object to what he did with his latest angel. For the moment, I would do nothing, but when Miss Bennet becamemysister, I suspected we would have words about my expectations. I was not Mr Bennet.
Elizabeth greeted us in the corridor along with her elder sister.
“Jane. Mr Bingley. Mr Darcy would like a quiet word with my father. It might be best if nobody in the drawing room became aware of his presence prematurely. We will greet the family properly in a bit.”
Miss Bennet and Bingley looked astonished and confused, but my friend was up for anything, so he gave a big smile and gallantly offered his arm to lead Miss Bennet into the lion’s den. It took but a moment for my ears to suggest a good reason she was still Miss Bennet at her age. The noise was deafening. I did not say anything, nor did Elizabeth aside from her grimace.
I squeezed her hand. “Courage, my love. You have yet to experience the dubious pleasure of meeting my aunt, LadyCatherine. Your mother will not frighten me, and she will soon be far away.”
“Too true, but I suspect you are gaining an appreciation for why I wish to marry sooner rather than later, and why I refrain from asking you to publicly court me.”
“You know that I would not allow her to stop me if you wanted more time. I would happily court you here, or simply have you visit your relatives in London, or even my aunt and sister. All you need do is say the word.”
“I do know, and I appreciate it, but of some pleasures, a little goes a long way. I know my heart, and you know yours. We have been inadvertently courting for the past two years. It is time to get on with it; delaying the inevitable profits nobody.”
“Let us see how indolent your father is. From what you said over the years, he should not be terribly difficult, and if he is… well… I am not to be trifled with any more than you are.”
“Let us not count our chickens just yet.”
