Page 37
“He has not asked yet.” Elizabeth smiled gently. “But I hope very much that he will.”
“I want it more than anything.” She looked up with desperation colouring her beautiful face. “I want you to be my sister. I want it so terribly much. But... you must know the truth before you accept him. You must know the ruin I nearly brought upon this family.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached for the young, burdened girl.
“I know the truth, Miss Darcy.” Elizabeth squeezed her hands. “Your brother told me everything in a letter months ago. I know about Ramsgate. I know about Mr Wickham.”
Miss Darcy gasped, a tear spilling over her lashes. “You know? And you do not despise me? I was so foolish. I was so blind. I nearly destroyed Fitzwilliam’s good name.”
“You did nothing wrong.” Elizabeth’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “You were a child. You were isolated, and you were manipulated by a bad man who preyed upon your innocent heart and your lack of experience. He is a scoundrel, Miss Darcy. The fault lies entirely with him, and with the companion who betrayed your trust.”
“I almost eloped.” Miss Darcy wept freely now, her shoulders shaking with the force of her long-held guilt. “If Fitzwilliam had not arrived a day early... I would have ruined everything.”
“But you did not.” Elizabeth released the girl’s hands, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and pulling her into a comforting embrace. “You did the bravest thing imaginable. You told your brother the truth, you trusted him, and he protected you.”
Miss Darcy buried her face in Elizabeth’s shoulder, crying out the last remnants of the poison Wickham had instilled in her heart.
Elizabeth stroked the girl’s blonde curls, her own eyes bright with unshed tears.
“That man is in your past, Miss Darcy.” Elizabeth rested her chin at the top of the girl’s head. “He has no power over you here. He cannot touch your future, and he certainly cannot touch the happiness of this family.”
Miss Darcy pulled back slightly, wiping her wet cheeks, hope replacing the fear.
“You truly believe that?” She sniffled, offering a watery smile.
“I know it with absolute certainty.” Elizabeth smoothed a stray curl away from the girl’s forehead. “The future is ahead of us all. And I cannot wait to be asked to be your sister.”
Miss Darcy threw her arms around Elizabeth’s neck. Elizabeth held her tightly, surrounded by the fragrance of the roses, her heart full. Pemberley had become her sanctuary, and she was ready for whatever the master of the estate chose to offer her tomorrow.
Chapter Twelve: A Proper Proposal
Darcy stood before the tall looking-glass in his bedchamber, staring at his own reflection, his nerves strung as tightly as a newly tuned pianoforte. He held a small box in his right hand, his thumb tracing the faded gold crest stamped on the lid.
Inside rested a ring of sapphires surrounded by diamonds. It had belonged to his mother, Lady Anne Darcy, and to his grandmother before her. It was a magnificent piece of jewellery, representing generations of Pemberley history, legacy, and enduring affection.
Today, he intended to place it on the slender finger of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Fletcher circled him carrying a clothes brush, attacking invisible specks of dust on the shoulders of Darcy’s blue morning coat.
Darcy closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He had planned every detail of the morning with precision. He had consulted the head gardener regarding the weather. He had spoken to the cook regarding a celebratory luncheon. He had even, in a moment of desperation, requested Mrs Reynolds to ensure the wolfhounds were locked in the stables until midday to prevent any unforeseen canine interruptions.
He opened the box. The sapphire caught the morning light, glittering with promise.
“The coat is perfect, Fletcher.” Darcy slid it into the inner pocket of his waistcoat over his heart. “You may cease brushing. You will wear away the wool.”
Fletcher took a step back, offering a crisp bow. “I wish everything to be exact for this morning, sir. A gentleman should appear his best when he intends to alter the course of his life.”
Darcy offered a dry, amused smile. “I assume the staff is aware of my intentions, then?”
“Mrs Reynolds informed the upper servants at breakfast, sir.” Fletcher placed the brush on the dressing table. “The lower servants were informed shortly thereafter. The scullery maids are weeping with joy into the washing coppers, and cook is baking a cake of staggering proportions. We are all invested in a positive outcome.”
“I shall endeavour not to disappoint the scullery maids.” Darcy adjusted his cravat one final time, feeling a soaring rush of affection for his dedicated household.
He descended the staircase, his boots making no sound on the thick carpet runners. The house felt different today. The silence that had dominated Pemberley for the past decade had vanished, replaced by the hum of life. He heard Georgiana playing a country dance on the pianoforte in the music room. He heard the distant sound of Mr Gardiner demanding a larger portion of bacon from the breakfast parlour.
Darcy paused at the bottom of the stairs, pressing a hand over his chest to feel the reassuring weight of the ring box. He needed to speak with Mr and Mrs Gardiner before he whisked their niece away.
He entered the breakfast parlour. Mr Gardiner occupied his antique Bath chair at the end of the table, a plate piled high with eggs and meats resting before him. Mrs Gardiner sat to his right, elegantly sipping her tea.
