"That was not the answer I was hoping for."
Her smile widened.
"I love you too, Fitzwilliam."
He kissed her then, with a gentleness that felt as if it contained every unspoken feeling. One hand rose to cradle her face, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek as though he still found it difficult to believe she was truly there. The kiss itself was gentle, touched with wonder rather than urgency, and Elizabeth felt her eyes close as the last of her uncertainty slipped quietly away.
How strange it was, she thought, that a man who had once seemed so formidable should have become the safest place in the world.
She felt him smile against her lips and could not help smiling in return. The sensation appeared to undo what little composure remained to either of them and the embrace became deeper and more urgent.
When at last they drew apart, it was only far enough to look at one another. Darcy rested his forehead lightly against hers, his hand still lingering at her cheek, and for several moments neither spoke.
Then, as though words still seemed wholly inadequate to the occasion, he bent his head once more and pressed a kiss to her brow, feather-light and infinitely tender. It was the kiss of a man who had finally come home.
Epilogue
Their honeymoon took them, inevitably, back to Lyme.
Elizabeth had laughed when the suggestion was first made and accused her husband of an inability to think of any other part of England. Darcy, with unusual honesty, had replied that he had very little desire to. Every important thing which had happened to him appeared to have happened there.
Mrs Makepeace received them with a degree of satisfaction which bordered upon insufferable. "I shall not say I told you so," she announced within ten minutes of their arrival.
"You said it four times before dinner," laughed Elizabeth.
Mrs Makepeace waved this aside. "That was different. I was speaking generally."
The guesthouse seemed smaller than Elizabeth remembered and yet more dear. The view from the windows remained as beautiful as ever and the parlour was just ascramped and fussy.
They had not travelled alone. Jane and Bingley occupied rooms along the corridor and appeared every bit as absurdly happy as newlyweds ought to be. Bingley still looked at Jane as though somebody might unexpectedly remove her if he failed to keepwatch for a moment. Jane endured the attention with the same gentle amusement she had always shown him.
"I still think you knew," Elizabeth said one evening as the four of them sat together after supper.
"Knew what?" asked Jane.
"Everything."
Jane laughed. "I knew nothing, dearest. Only that we were all very happy here together."
"You knew he would return."
"I hoped he would."
"You knew he would propose."
"I hoped he would."
"You knew you would be happy."
At this Jane exchanged a glance with her husband.
???
Later that evening, when the others had retired, Elizabeth stood by the open window of their room and watched the moonlight lying silver across the harbour below. The sounds of Lyme drifted faintly upwards from the street. Somewhere a door closed. Somewhere else laughter carried briefly on the wind before disappearing into the night.
Strong arms settled around her waist.
She smiled immediately, "You are becoming predictable."
