Page 11 of Desired By Mr Darcy
“Of course! I ought not to tell you this, for nothing has been arranged for certain, but I am in possession of a most exciting secret.”
“What?”
Jane looked at her, her smile widening as she clasped Lizzy’s hands with joy.
“Charles has made enquiries on an estate not five miles from Pemberley.”
“Oh!”
“Nothing is certain!” Jane said. “And we shall keep Netherfield.”
“Two estates! How grand you shall be, Jane!”
“It does not matter to me. I would love him if he had nothing at all.”
“I know you would,” she said softly. “And that is why you will be happy, no matter where you live.”
Jane reached for Lizzy’s hands, squeezing them tightly.
“And you as well, dearest sister. We are most fortunate, are we not?”
Lizzy exhaled, nodding.
“Indeed, we are. To have found such love, such contentment… I could not have imagined it when we first came to Netherfield.”
“Nor I. How much has changed since those days!”
“Yes,” Lizzy agreed, her thoughts drifting back to the pride and misunderstandings, the hesitations and heartaches that had once stood between her and Darcy. It seemed almost impossible now, knowing how deeply she loved him, how steady and certain her heart had become.
“Do you think,” Jane asked after a moment, “that we shall always be as happy as we are now?”
Lizzy met her sister’s hopeful gaze and smiled. “I do not doubt it. We have chosen well, and we have each other. No matter what may come, that shall never change.”
Jane nodded, as if sealing the promise between them. Lizzy turned her face toward the sun-dappled fields, content in the knowledge that the best was yet to come.
Chapter Four
Darcy
London Gentlemen’s Clubs were far from Darcy’s favourite places. They stank of tobacco and alcohol, and the men within them often forgot how to behave in the manner that fitted the establishment’s title. Drink, in his experience, tended to make sensible men fools. He nursed the same brandy he had been served an hour before, as his cousin and Bingley poured themselves a generous helping from the black bottle that sat in the centre of the table.
“To the future Mrs Darcy!” Fitzwilliam raised his glass. “May she always keep you on your toes.”
Darcy had returned to his house in Grosvenor Square that afternoon only to find his cousin was in residence. Fitzwilliam had insisted they go out to celebrate the happy news that very evening – and that Bingley must join them so his own engagement could be toasted. And so the three of them now sat in a sumptuously decorated room with a decanter of brandy in front of them – a decanter that seemed to be rapidly depleting in contents as Fitzwilliam helped himself.
“Thank you.”
Fitzwilliam leant back in his chair, his eyes shining. They had skirted the subject of Darcy’s engagement for the past hour, making all manner of small talk but avoiding the glaring elephant in the room. Fitzwilliam had always been respectful of Darcy’s reluctance to speak of his personal life, but it seemed that respect faded with each sip of alcohol. Fitzwilliam now regarded his cousin with all the eagerness of an animal on the hunt for prey.
“So, tell me, where has all this come from? It seems quite sudden. You could barely say two words to the girl at Easter. Any other man and I might have guessed, but your conversation often stilted in unfamiliar company. I had no idea your silence was intended as flirtation.”
“We have known each other for some time.”
“And she seemed quite intent on loathing you for eternity! What has changed from Rosings?”
“I…”
“Why, Darcy, you old dog! Don’t tell me she’s…”
