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From the terrace steps, the Bennet family, along with Mrs Philips, waved at the Bingley carriage until it was almost out of sight; when it disappeared around a bend, the party turned and filed down the path leading to the garden’s impressive maze. He had positioned servants within to provide hints, in case any grew lost, but he had a feeling they would decline assistance in favour of the entertainment—they were a merry lot. When they reached the centre, they would find refreshments and cushioned benches waiting. Mr Bennet watched them go, an expression of contented amusement upon his face; then he turned back towards the house. On his arm was Elizabeth.
From his vantage point, Darcy could not tell if she was fatigued, and wondered if he ought to send a servant to her to see if she had need of anything. To his surprise, a few minutes later she entered the drawing room—by herself. Her complexion was bright, her eyes sparkling. As usual, she took his breath away.
“Miss Bennet. Is there aught I can do to render your stay more comfortable?”
“Yes,” she said gaily. “You may escort me to see the waterfall. I have heard paeans of praise to its beauty.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, amazed and hopeful. He offered his arm.
The footpath to Pemberley Woods was probably well-travelled, Elizabeth surmised, but the way they had laid crushed stone, with wild grasses sprouting in random patterns, gave it the look of an ancient road long abandoned by the Romans. Once they were in the forest proper, only an earthen track led the way to a quiet stream. They followed the water’s edge for some time, until they came to a large slide of mossy stones; water trickled between them, surging downwards in a primordial pathway in its quest to join the River Derwent somewhere in its future.
“We have not had enough rain lately, so the flow is hardly impressive. There are times when the gushing water is so noisy, we would have to shout to be heard.”
Elizabeth noticed the way tree stumps were artfully arranged to provide respite to those who wandered near, and seated herself upon one.
“It is lovely,” she murmured. “Everything at Pemberley is. I suspect it would take years to discover all its beauties.”
“Your family is welcome to stay as long as they wish.”
He really was a kind man. “I expect you would regret that invitation before a fortnight passed,” she said, smiling at him so that he knew she was teasing.
“Not if it meant you stayed as well.” His tone was perfectly serious.
“Ah, but I would lose my home if I stayed as long as I wished,” she teased, still smiling. “I must spend eleven months of the year in Sheffield.”
“Upon my honour, I vow that any visits you make, to anywhere you wish to go, will never count against the time you must keep residence in Sheffield. I hold a very liberal interpretation of what the terms of the bequest entail; as long as you keep a room for yourself there, your occupation is deemed secure.”
“Would merely keeping a room at Meadowbrook truly protect my property rights?” she asked, curious.
He opened his hands wide. “It might. It could also be a risk, I suppose. I am unable to change the terms of my father’s bequest. I can only assure you that, quite candidly, no solicitor of mine will ever challenge you over it. There is absolutely nothing you can do to lose that property for as long as I live, should you spend eleven months of the year at Longbourn, and I swear this upon my honour as a gentleman.”
Her smile faded. He was not teasing. Her spirits soared.
“What if I spent eleven months of the year at Pemberley, instead?” she asked daringly.
He knelt beside her. “Then I would be the happiest man in the world.”
Suddenly she knew, with an intense thrill of conviction, that she was about to receive her first kiss. If she moved back, or away, or gave any indication at all that she did not want it, he would retreat. His hands cupped her face, slowly, gently. He gazed into her eyes, and when he brought his mouth to hers, it was as if he knew he had gained her silent permission. His lips were warm, firm, the mouth of a man who knew what he wanted and would pursue it relentlessly; the pressure freed something within herself, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to wrap her arms around him and kiss him right back.
Their embrace grew more impassioned, until she felt as though she could not be close enough to him.
“Marry me, please,” he said, trailing kisses across her jaw and down her neck.
“I thought you would never ask,” she replied, and brought her mouth again to his.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ASKING FOR TROUBLE
Darcy lost no time, once returned to the house, in seeking out Mr Bennet—who was easily discovered in his favourite place, surrounded by books. Mr Bennet was possibly not his greatest admirer, but beyond expressing a certain surprise, he was amenable to his daughter marrying the possessor of such a library.
“How went the conversation?” Darcy asked, once Elizabeth had emerged from speaking to her father. He led her to a small drawing room, less fashionably decorated, although he preferred it to many of the more lavishly furnished chambers. It contained one of the most comfortable sofas in the house, upon which he seated himself beside her. She was very quiet, almost distracted, accepting his presence, holding his hand, but hardly noticing him. “Was he unkind? Did he attempt to dissuade you from this marriage?”
She seemed to come back to herself, leaning her head upon his shoulder, and he wanted her again with the fiery passion experienced in the garden. “I was not worried. I wanted his blessing, of course, but I am my own mistress now; whether our marriage pleases him or not makes very little difference to my future. He has his concerns, but I do not share any of them.”
“I hope you do not mind if I apply for a common licence. I cannot imagine waiting weeks for the banns to be called, when I am able to procure one in a very few days, and whilst Fitzwilliam is here to stand up with me.”
“You are impatient,” she said, placing her hand upon his chest. He felt his pulse quicken violently beneath her touch.
