Page 34 of Time Stands Still

“Oh, that horrid, freckled Mary King!” Lydia lamented from the window seat. “To think she should have him, when he is so handsome!”

“Poor Miss King,” Elizabeth said, her voice grave. “I fear she has allied herself with a man of no principle.”

“No principle!” Lydia cried, jumping to her feet, her eyes wide and dreamy. “How can you say so, Lizzy? He only ran away from his regiment for love, I am sure! How very romantic! Mr. Wickham is an angel! He is all amiability and goodness.”

“I once thought so, as well,” Elizabeth replied, her expression sombre. “But I have since received proof of his true character. Mr. Darcy himself made me aware of the truth. Mr. Wickham is a man who lives by deception. He is a gamester and a spendthrift who leaves debts wherever he goes, and whose word cannot be trusted. Meryton is well rid of him, I assure you.”

“And to add to it all,” Mrs. Bennet continued, undeterred by Lydia's lamentations, “your aunt Philips told me only yesterday. Mr. Philips had it from Mr. Stone, who owns the lease, that Mr. Bingley is to give up Netherfield Park! To think, my poor Jane, that he should leave… but never mind! As if we should have any use for him now that Lizzy is to be so grandly married!”

“Mamma, Mr. Bingley is of no consequence to me, nor, I believe, to our family,” Jane said gently, her voice calm and steady. “I wish him well, of course, but it is undoubtedly better that he removes himself from the neighbourhood.”

Elizabeth chanced a look at Jane, but her sister’s expression was one of perfect serenity. The news that would once have wounded her deeply now seemed to be of no more consequence than a change in the weather. Jane was truly free.

The study door opened, and Darcy emerged, his expression unreadable. He caught Elizabeth’s eye and gave a slight nod. “Your father would like to speak with you, Elizabeth.”

She entered the familiar, book-lined room, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Her father was standing by the window, looking out at the garden. He turned as she entered, his expression one of sober inquiry.

“Lizzy,” he began, gesturing for her to sit. “Your letter, I confess, was a great surprise to me. But this conversation with Mr. Darcy has been… more surprising still. He has, with great formality, made me an offer for your hand. He has my consent, of course. There can be no objection to such a match in point of fortune or connection. Your mother is to have at last a rich son-in-law. But before I call him my son, I must know one thing. Are you happy?”

He looked at her, his gaze piercing with a fatherly concern she had rarely seen so plainly. “I have always believed you held Mr. Darcy in the lowest esteem. Indeed, I have seen no evidence to the contrary. Did you not once declare him to be the most disagreeable, proudest man in the world? What has become of that man, Lizzy? Or has he merely a very large park and ten thousand a year to recommend him? My dear Lizzy, do not, for the sake of a grand establishment, do not make yourself unhappy. Let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life.”

Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes at his tender concern. “Oh, Papa,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “You are mistaken. I have been so blind. My opinion of Mr. Darcy was formed on a foundation of falsehood and my own foolish pride. What you say is true. I did despise him. But I was wrong.”

She took a breath, needing him to understand, needing to defend the truth of her heart. “In Kent, I saw him for who he truly is. I have never been more certain of anything in my life. He is generous, and honourable, and good. It is not his park or his fortune that I love, Papa. It is him. I love him. I love him with all my heart.”

She spoke with such earnestness, such unshakeable conviction, her passionate defence of the man she loved laying her heart bare. Mr. Bennet’s expression softened, the ironic glint in his eye replaced by a look of profound understanding. He came to her and took her hands in his.

“Well, my dear,” he said, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face. “If this is the case, he is truly a man to be valued. I could not have parted with you to any one less worthy. For a man to have inspired such a change in my sharp-tongued Lizzy, he must be something extraordinary indeed. You have my blessing, Lizzy. My full and heartfelt blessing.”

When she had left her father’s study, her heart soaring, Darcy was waiting for her in the hall, preparing to take his leave. He was to return to London to see to his affairs, with the plan of returning to Hertfordshire the following week, with Miss Darcy.

Elizabeth walked with him to his carriage, their steps falling into a familiar, comfortable rhythm.

“All is well?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

“All is well,” she confirmed, her heart so full she could barely speak.

He stopped at the carriage door and turned to face her. “Until next week, then,” he said, his voice a low promise.

“Until next week,” she whispered in return.

He took her hand, as if to kiss it, but then he did not. Instead, his gaze held hers, and in a motion so swift it forestalled all thought, he drew her closer. His other hand came to rest on her waist, a firm and steadying pressure, and he lowered his head and kissed her.

The shock of it, here in the open air, on the very steps of her father’s house, sent a dizzying tremor through her. It was a brief and daring act, a flagrant disregard for propriety that was both scandalous and profoundly thrilling. It was not the desperate, soul-baring kiss of Rosings Park, but something else entirely: a quiet, confident claiming of what was his. When he drew back, her breath was unsteady, her face warmed by a blush that had nothing to do with the cool air. She was acutely aware of the open door behind her, of the possibility of being seen, yet the world seemed to have narrowed to the small space between them.

“I find I am already impatient for the week to end,” he said, his voice a low murmur, a slow smile touching his lips as he took in her flustered state.

She could find no witty retort, no teasing reply. She could only nod, the gesture feeling entirely inadequate, before he gave her hand a final, meaningful squeeze, and climbed into his carriage. As she watched it pull away, she raised a hand to her lips, the startling warmth of his kiss a promise of the life to come.

Chapter Twenty-Six

True to his word, Darcy returned to Hertfordshire the following week, and Longbourn was thrown into a state of delighted chaos by the arrival of not only Darcy, but also of Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Mrs. Bennet, all smiles and civility, greeted them at the door. “Mr. Darcy, you are most welcome!” Her eyes then fell upon his companions. Darcy stepped forward.

“Mrs. Bennet, may I present my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“A pleasure, a great pleasure!” Mrs. Bennet said, offering a flustered but genuine curtsy. “Miss Darcy, Colonel, welcome to Longbourn. You must be fatigued from your journey. We have more than enough rooms for your party, you are most welcome to stay.”