Page 107 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"I was hiding," he corrected. "And then I met you. And you looked at me with those eyes, those fine, unforgiving eyes, and you saw me. You saw the man I was, and you challenged me to be better."

He reached into his pocket.

"My resolution for the New Year," he began, "is not to be the Master of Pemberley. It is not to be the nephew of an Earl. It is to be the man who deserves you. To be the man who makes you laugh. The man who buys you books and stands by your side against the world."

He pulled out the ring. It was a simple velvet box, but in his hand, it held the weight of the world.

"I do not offer you perfection, Elizabeth. I am still learning. I am still stubborn and proud. But I offer you my heart. Completely. Irrevocably."

He knelt. In the snow, on the terrace, Fitzwilliam Darcy knelt before her.

"Elizabeth Bennet. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Will you resolve to tolerate me for the rest of our lives?"

Elizabeth looked down at him, at the fear in his eyes, and the love reflected in their depths. She thought of the man who saved his sister, who rode to Longbourn in the cold to speak with her father, and the man who apologised to her for saving her sister from an unworthy man.

"I will not tolerate you, Fitzwilliam," she said, her voice choking with tears.

His face fell.

"I will love you," she finished, dropping to her knees in the snow beside him, heedless of her silk gown. "I will love you fiercely. Every day. For every year."

"Yes?" he whispered.

"Yes," she nodded many, many times. "Yes, yes, yes."

He let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. He pulled the ring from the box—a stunning pink diamond—and slid it onto her finger. Then he pulled her into his arms.

He kissed her. It was cold air and warm lips, desperation and promise. It was the end of pride and the beginning of prejudice's demise.

And as they kissed, kneeling in the snow, the bells of St George's began to toll.

One. Two. Three.

"Happy New Year," he murmured against her lips.

"Happy New Year," she replied.

They stayed on the terrace until the bells finished ringing, wrapped in each other's arms, ignoring the cold. Her head was resting on his chest, exactly above the spot he used to rub because it hurt. When she pulled back, she saw her dress and laughed.

"Your dress!" Darcy pointed at the wet hem of her ivory silk. "It is ruined."

"It is christened," she shrugged. "It has a story now."

"We should go inside. Before Robert sends out the hounds."

"Or before Lady Catherine comes to check my posture."

They walked back into the ballroom. The atmosphere had shifted. Inside the supper room, the guests were mingling, toasting, celebrating the arrival of 1812.

As they entered, heads turned. It was impossible to miss them. Darcy was dishevelled and triumphant. Elizabeth was radiant and wet.

Robert spotted them first. He marched over, Jane on his arm.

"Well?" Robert demanded. "Did you do it? Or did you just roll around in the snow?"

Elizabeth held up her hand. The pink diamond caught the candlelight.

"Finally!" Robert shouted, grabbing Darcy's hand and shaking it violently. "Welcome to the club, Cousin! We are all mad here!"