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To a casual observer, it would seem that of the two gentlemen, it was Mr. Bingley who was the most impatient to reach Longbourn, but the more observant could easily discern the restlessness of Mr. Darcy. Whilst Bingley was the first to climb onto his horse and proceed a few step down the driveway calling for his friend to quicken his pace, it was Darcy who had been waiting outside by the stable for ten minutes for Bingley to join him. This brief period of solitude, then the languid ride to Longbourn gave Darcy ample chance to dwell upon what he should say when he found himself face to face once more with Elizabeth Bennet.
He would not, of course, repeat his words of April. Those words had been from his mind, rather than his heart. He had not properly expressed that time, what he really felt for her. However on this occasion, eloquence was unnecessary; as his cousin had said, Darcy had to simply speak from his heart.
"What on earth is troubling you so, Darcy?" inquired Bingley, once he had realised Darcy had not spoken more than ten words the entire morning.
"Nothing of consequence."
Nor could Darcy open up to his friend about his hopes and dreams. What if Elizabeth refused him a second time? He would not ruin his friend's happiness with news of his own sorrow.
But if she accepted, what then?
Darcy smiled at this, then humbly shook his head. He would not let himself expect more than what would happen.
For a change, there was no face at the window watching their arrival. The Bennet family were undoubtedly now used to Mr. Bingley's visits, however they would not be expecting Mr. Darcy to come as well. The housekeeper announced the two men into the drawing room, where the ladies of the house were seated. Darcy could see Jane, her features appearing even more beautiful with the arrival of Bingely, but his attention was immediately fixed on Elizabeth.
She glanced at him apprehensively, but with no antagonism. She was not smiling, and she seemed unsettled at Darcy's presence, however, also perhaps, a little expectant of his coming?
Before Mrs. Bennet could speak, Bingley proposed their all walking out. Whether he knew about his friend's intentions or, more likely, merely wanted to be alone with Jane Darcy was grateful for his friend's suggestion. But his happiness at having a moment to speak to Elizabeth privately was diminished with Miss Catherine's acceptance as well. Nevertheless, it was still better than remaining indoors, with the presence of so many others.
Trying to quell his rapidly beating heart, Darcy fell unconsciously into place beside Elizabeth. She did not look at him, but accepted Darcy's position by her side. Her younger sister followed behind them, whilst Jane and Bingley, absorbed in each other took the lead.
The road to Meryton was not long enough to warrant the use of a carriage, but long enough to give Darcy time to collect his thoughts, forming a desperate resolution, but the presence of Miss Catherine prevented him from carrying that out.
He could not prevent himself from casting his eyes towards his fair walking companion. Her bonnet hid most of her face and the fine eyes he so admired, but Elizabeth's dark curls spilled out to the side, making Darcy wish that she would remove the confining bonnet and let her hair flow out like the wild and free spirit she was. Once he was caught the eye of the lady and he quickly removed his gaze to the road ahead.
Very little was said by either of the three parties, Jane and Bingely having now pulled far ahead of them and were now heedless of the events behind them. Darcy imagined that Miss Catherine was too afraid to speak, whilst Elizabeth was too uncomfortable. He himself could not say a word beyond a monosyllable, caught up as he was trying to form a proposal in his mind.
"Lizzy."
Darcy and Elizabeth turned to look at Miss Catherine Bennet, the thoughts of both interrupted.
"Would you mind if I just run down the lane to see Maria Lucas?" asked the girl.
Darcy's heart quickened in both excitement and apprehension. Elizabeth gave her consent and in a few moments, the gentleman and the lady were left to continue by themselves.
Much could be said at such a time and chance, but Darcy found his resolve slipping. He would ask her, once more, to be his wife, but before he could say a word, Elizabeth spoke.
"Mr. Darcy."
The gentleman addressed turned to look at Elizabeth with mild surprise. The lady continued.
"I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister."
Darcy stopped in bewilderment, wondering how Elizabeth had come to know about his assistance in Lydia's marriage.
"Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to expresss," said Elizabeth in a tone that was less than settled.
"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise and emotion, "that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted."
But it was more likely, Darcy realised, that it had been Lydia herself, in spite of his pleas, who had betrayed the knowledge of his help. But it did not matter now.
"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them."
"If you will thank me," replied Darcy slowly, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."
He had said it, he had come too far now to stop. He heard Elizabeth gasp, in surprise, shock or relief he was unsure. Darcy turned to face her, and taking a deep breath, said,
"You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are what they were last April, tell me so at once."
Elizabeth turned to look at him, her gaze locked to his. Darcy stared deep into her fine eyes, and spoke from his heart.
"My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever."
He loved her too much to wish her to remain unhappy because of his desire. But the future would be forever dark and cold to him, were she to refuse again.
Darcy did not remove his gaze, determined to see the matter to the end.
"My feelings," said Elizabeth slowly, not looking at him, "my feelings are - I am ashamed to remember what I said then. My feelings are so different now."
Darcy held his breath, waiting for the final blow.
"In fact," said Elizabeth, beginning to smile shyly and clasping her hands behind her back, "they are . . . quite the opposite."
Dawning realisation. Disbelieving joy. So much, too much, a surge of such happiness that he could only stand in shock, hardly fathoming what it was . . . and then the frozen state melted and there was fire, swirling its way through him, igniting every vein and nerve and he could feel, so much that it made him tremble in its intensity. He was suddenly aware of the thud of his heart, pounding its heavy rhythm in the rush of his ears as if determined to make the whole world know of its rapturous delight.
The new feeling seemed to bleach him to his very core, stripping away every carefully constructed shield and leaving him bare in his emotions for the first time. The walls were gone, all gone, every barrier he'd built up even from his childhood crumbling away into ash under the onslaught of the alien but glorious euphoria- bright and radiant and percolating through the once unyielding obstacles like they were nothing more than water or air. Though he might have once been mortified at such a display of weak vulnerability, he didn't care any longer about propriety, because she loved him, she loved him, and nothing could matter more than that . . .
Controlling himself, he turned back to her, his eyes desperately finding hers.
The beautiful chocolate brown was not just fine anymore but a celestial brilliance, shining with a new light and almost bronze in the sun.
Darcy could not breathe, could not tear his gaze away- for what he had hoped for so terribly was impossibly, incredibly real, and . . .
He suddenly felt that he wanted to somehow sink into the swirling caramel depths and stay there, forever cocooned in their warmth and never resurfacing.
"I-I-" He cleared his throat, his voice raw. "I thank you." Tentatively, as if silently asking permission and giving her leave to snatch away, he took her soft hand in between his two, holding it gently within his grasp, his fingers grazing over the smooth skin almost reverently before he lowered his head to brush his lips gently against the trembling fingers. "There is nothing more I could have wanted in life, except your love," he said quietly. "And now . . . I am now complete."
He did not need to say more to tell her just how important she was to him. The words were simple, but in them so much more, the tremor of a thousand unspoken ones. Others might not have understood- but she did, her gaze soft as she tightened her grasp on his hands.
As one, they resumed their walk, without knowing in what direction, the pleasant discomfort of both giving way to conversation.
Darcy spoke first, determined to apologise to Elizabeth for his aunt's behaviour,
"Lady Catherine told me of her meeting with you. You may say that her disclosure had quite the opposite effect of the one she intended. It taught me to hope as I'd scarcely allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of you disposition to be certain, that, had you absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly."
He felt Elizabeth laugh beside him, her hand still held in his. "Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruples in abusing you to all your relations."
Darcy would not let her take any of the blame for their past misunderstandings. "What did you say of me that I did not deserve?" asked he. "For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence."
"We will not quarrel for the greater share of the blame annexed to that evening," Elizabeth reassured him. "The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility."
Darcy laughed a little at this. "I cannot be so easily reconciled in myself. The recollection of what I said, my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: 'had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me - though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice."
He thought back to the aftermath of his first proposal, how fearful he had been to his friends and family and himself. But his friends and family had understood, and he was grateful that the lesson had not been wasted.
"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression," replied Elizabeth. "I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way."
"I can easily believe it. You thought me devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way, that would induce you to accept me."
But the memory of that was soon fading, and in its place was the vision of her happiness, when he told her once again, that he loved her.
"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you, that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it."
Darcy mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he, "did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?"
Elizabeth proceeded to explain what its affect on her had been, and how gradually how all her former prejudices had been removed.
"I will admit that, at first, I did not believe a single word. I did not want to believe it. However, my blindness gave way to good sense and I realised how wholly I had been mistaken, in my assumptions of you, Mr. Wickham and everything thereafter."
"I knew," replied Darcy, "that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed that letter. There was one part of it especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me."
He winced a little as he remembered how proud and haughty his opening paragraph had been.
"The letter certainly shall be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies," said Elizabeth with mild reproof.
"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit."
"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."
Darcy smiled at this, the last vestiges of any guilt falling away. Yes, he would learn some of Elizabeth's philosophy.
"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased."
Such a long speech like he had never made before in his life. Yet it was worth it - to tell Elizabeth just how he was forever hers.
"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?" asked Elizabeth.
"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses." He smiled ruefully at the image of the man he had been.
"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?"
"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction."
He did not mention that this anger was directed at himself.
"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?"
"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise."
"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due."
"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you. My sister, Georgiana was delighted to meet, she told me many a time, the one who held such an influence over me. She was most disappointed when circumstance forced your party to interrupt your journey."
This line of conversation naturally lead to the cause of that interruption, Darcy told Elizabeth of his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.
Elizabeth expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.
After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know any thing about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.
"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!" was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs. "I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.
"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."
"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much."
Darcy exclaimed at this but upon giving the matter thought, he had, in a way, given his approval for Bingely to continue his suit. This showed just how well Elizabeth knew him. He felt no embarrassment at being so transparent - rather, content.
"On the morning of my going to London," said he, "I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."
He watched Elizabeth smile and felt a glowing happiness that he would be able to see that smile every day for the rest of his life.
"Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?"
"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of her affection."
"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him."
"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now."
Elizabeth smiled again at some joke she decided not to share with him. Perhaps it was some observation of her own that she imagined would offend him. Darcy did not really mind. Her observations and criticisms of him would always be welcome.
In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted, fingers twitching regretfully as they let go but faces still yet alight with an unparalleled happiness.
Now could not last, but forever would.
They remained in contented silence in the hall for one moment more before joining the others in the dining room. Darcy smiled at Elizabeth before they entered, silently agreeing to try not to let any signal of their attachment be visible to others.
"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was the first question Darcy heard from Jane who was seated next to Bingley. This was repeated by many in the room, but Elizabeth deftly answered their inquiries as best she could without letting any suspicions rise. Darcy watched Elizabeth blush slightly but did his best to avert his gaze.
The evening passed quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledged were silent. Darcy, being of a taciturn disposition, was not to let his happiness show itself in mirth, however, those who knew him well would notice a brightness in his eye and an easiness in his manner that indicated something more. He noticed Bingley looking at him curiously a few times during the course of the visit, but he said nothing.
The brightness and easiness increased whenever he looked at, or was near Elizabeth. One smile from her and he felt he was in Heaven.
Love is what brings happiness to all people.
"Engaged?!" exclaimed Bingley, reflexively pulling on the reins.
Darcy smiled at his friend's reaction, and laughed.
"I speak truthfully, old friend. Elizabeth has accepted my proposal and we are engaged."
Bingley's face reflected his immense surprise, then it was soon dispelled by an expression of immense delight.
"Are you not happy?" asked Darcy.
Bingley laughed heartily. "Nothing could please me more! Jane and I had entertained hopes of such a union but had deemed it impossible. I am delighted that you have proved us wrong. This is perfect!"
Darcy smiled and did not reply.
Everything was more than perfect.