“Are you certain you wish to go through with this, Richard? Your joint declaration of love is barely five hours old, and you already plan to marry by special license.”
“Tell me this, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam said, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. “If you ever fell in love with a woman, and she accepted your proposal, would you not want to start your life together immediately?”
Darcy was hit with a sense of longing so fierce; he thought his heart would burst. If Elizabeth had said yes to his bungled proposal, he absolutely would have pushed to marry sooner rather than later. He had no right to caution his cousin in this matter.
“I will stand by your side when you say your vows, and wish you happiness.”
Chapter Twelve
The morning sun filteredthrough the towering columns of oak trees as Elizabeth stepped into the grove, and found Mr. Darcy already there. A delicate flush warmed her cheeks at the sight of him waiting so patiently.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said, inclining his head in a graceful bow.
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” she replied. “Have you been here long?”
“Only a few minutes,” he confessed, closing the small distance between them to lift her gloved hand to his lips. “May I say you look most becoming this fine morning?”
“You flatter me, sir. I will grant that I am tolerable and that you may be biased in my favour. But I have spent my life in the shadow of true beauty and am well aware of my own imperfections.”
“To me, you are singularly beautiful, Miss Bennet. I shall not permit you to dismiss my compliments so lightly.” He held her hand gently, his gaze steady. His words hung between them like a promise.
“Well, then, I yield,” she conceded. She slid her free hand into the pocket of her pelisse and produced the letter she hadpainstakingly written last night. “Please read this only after you leave your aunt’s house, perhaps on your journey to London. I would not mind if you shared it with your cousin.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed slightly with amused curiosity. “That sounds ominous. Should I be alarmed?”
“I do not believe so,” she assured him. “It will alter your opinion of my family, quite favourably, I hope.”
“I am intrigued.” He reached into his coat and withdrew an envelope of his own. “I have penned one, too. After Fitzwilliam and I depart, you will receive news from Lady Catherine that may distress you. This letter contains the true facts. Pray, say nothing of it until we meet in town.”
“Now,Iam intrigued,” Elizabeth teased, tucking the envelope away.
He glanced at his pocket watch, a slight frown crossing his features. “Fitzwilliam is anxious to get on the road.” Mr. Darcy paused, turning fully to her. “May I tell you how eagerly I anticipate calling on you in London?”
“You already have,” she replied, her lips curving with warmth. “And I, too, look forward to becoming better acquainted.”
“Adieu, Miss Bennet — Elizabeth.” He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss upon her knuckles. “I shall count every hour until we meet again.”
Elizabeth watched him stride down the winding path, his figure gradually swallowed by the soft shadows of the woods. “Oh my,” she whispered, steadying her breath while her heart fluttered like a captive bird. Gathering her composure, she made her way to her favourite fallen log. There, enveloped by the scent of pine and the promise of spring, she settled beneath the boughs to break open the letter, written by the man who, shenow realised, was well on his way to winning her heart.
Elizabeth,
Forgive my presumption in addressing you by your given name, but this is how you inhabit my thoughts. As you know, my aunt has long insisted that my cousin Anne and I must marry. Neither of us harbours the slightest intention of complying with her demands. After I departed the parsonage yesterday, Anne and I spoke with perfect candour, and our other cousin, Fitzwilliam, joined in the discussion. It soon became clear that Anne and Fitzwilliam have long been in love and are resolved to marry. Because Anne is of age, she does not require any formal consent from my aunt. To that end, the three of us devised a stratagem to distract my aunt’s attention.
No doubt, in the coming days, you will hear that Anne and I have been married by special license
Elizabeth’s hand shook so violently, she nearly tore the page. He was to wed his cousin by special license? Hot tears sprang to her eyes, stinging them with a mixture of shame and fury, and slowly tracked down her cheeks. How could she have been so foolish to open her heart to such a man? She wiped her eyes and glared at the letter, still in her hand
—but take heart, the groom is Colonel Fitzwilliam. Anne was most careful to tell my aunt only that she was marrying her cousin, leaving Lady Catherine confident that her decade-old machinations were finally bearing fruit. She further assured her mother that she and her new husband would remain at his family’s estate in Derbyshirefor three months before returning to Kent. My uncle’s estate near Matlock lies scarcely thirty miles from my own.
Rest assured, dearest Elizabeth, regardless of what my aunt declares, it is not I who stands before my uncle, the archbishop, to exchange vows. I shall do so only once, and, God willing, an impertinent miss from Hertfordshire will stand by my side when I do.
Should my aunt discover the truth before their return, I am confident that neither you nor your cousin nor his wife will suffer anything beyond her displeasure.
Yours faithfully, Fitzwilliam
Hope, warm and bright, kindled in Elizabeth’s heart. She folded the letter and hurried back to the parsonage, her boots crunching on the gravel path. Molly greeted her at the door and took her outerwear.
“Is Mrs. Collins gone out?” she asked the maid.
