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Chapter 10
“Iwould like you to tell me that I am the best cousin that has ever been or is ever likely to be,” Colonel Fitzwilliam announced as he joined them in the hall near Elizabeth’s chambers.
“I am certain you would,” Mr. Darcy replied drily. “Is there some reason to believe you deserve it?”
Elizabeth laughed quietly. A kind of giddiness had overtaken her. “Please forgive me,” she said. She reached to take Mr. Darcy’s hand in her own. She marveled at her boldness, at how large his hand was, at how tenderly it held hers.
Even in the flickering light provided by the lamp, Elizabeth saw the colonel’s features soften briefly before he realized he was being observed. Too late, colonel, she thought, her heart warming to him at once.
“First, because my men should arrive shortly and take care of the men in the cellar. By morning, they should be ready to talk.”
“And the second?” Mr. Darcy inquired.
“Last week, while you two were . . . well, I am not sure you were doing anything at all, to tell the truth,” the colonel said drolly, stepping into Elizabeth’s room behind them and closing the door. “Miss Elizabeth has an excuse, but I hope you realize that I was quite busy while you were playing nursemaid, Darcy.”
Mr. Darcy muttered something under his breath.
The colonel snorted. “Last week, among the many heroic efforts I ventured on your behalf, I spoke to my mother.”
“Come, now,” Mr. Darcy scoffed. “Your mother might be a bit overbearing, but I hardly think facing her requires heroic effort.”
“Do you want this or not?” the colonel asked, holding up a piece of paper.
Mr. Darcy frowned, took the paper, and held it close to the light. “This is a common license!” he exclaimed. “When did I sign this?”
Elizabeth stepped closer to see for herself. “That is right, Mrs. Spencer called you Master Fitzwilliam,” she said. “Like the colonel.”
Mr. Darcy colored, but nodded. “I know it is rather unwieldy. I would prefer you call me William.”
She touched a finger to his signature. “It is strong and elegant. It suits you.”
“Thank you,” the colonel replied, and Mr. Darcy made a warning sound very much like a growl.
“However,” Elizabeth said cheerfully, ignoring the colonel, “I should be pleased to call you William if that is the name you prefer.” She returned her attention to the document. Her head lifted suddenly. “When did Papa sign this?”
The colonel addressed Mr. Darcy. “You signed this when you were so dead on your feet from caring for Miss Elizabeth that you could barely see straight.”
Elizabeth blushed. Mr. Darcy had driven himself to great lengths to care for her. He would be a wonderful husband. She silently pledged to be an excellent wife.
“Your father signed it today,” the colonel told Elizabeth. He shrugged. “Not that it mattered. Neither of you had to sign. I just thought it might keep Lady Catherine away.”
“Who?” Elizabeth asked.
Both men groaned. “Our aunt,” Mr. Darcy explained. “She is . . .” he paused. “She can be rather . . .”
Elizabeth waited expectantly.
“She has lately been insisting that Darcy marry our cousin Anne,” the colonel said at last. “And by insisting, I mean demanding. Neither Darcy nor Anne is amenable.”
“Nearly five years, Fitz,” Mr. Darcy said and rubbed the back of his neck. “It is hardly new, though her memory of my cradle betrothal to Anne was miraculously and conveniently restored the day after my father’s funeral.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, laying her hand upon Mr. Darcy’s arm. “Then I am very sorry for your aunt, but I shall not give you up.”
“I would not allow it in any case,” Mr. Darcy murmured. “You have said yes. I shall never let you go now.”
“That sounds rather ominous, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said playfully.
“Be that as it may, Elizabeth,” he said, bringing her good hand to his mouth for a brief kiss, “it is the truth.”
