Page 7 of Desired By Mr Darcy
“I have; I wrote to her last night. I wrote to several others to tell them, and yet the news still did not feel real.”
“Your aunt shall be unhappy to hear of it, I am certain.”
“My aunt is unhappy about a great many things; this shall make little difference.”
“Why, Mr Darcy! That is cutting indeed.”
“Will you come to London?” he pressed.
She smiled, nodding.
“I would be glad to. When?”
“I will be occupied for a few days, but Wednesday? I shall be able to give you my full attention.”
She beamed up at him happily.
“Wednesday, then. I suppose I can bear to be parted from you for a day or two with the promise that we will be together before long.”
He was not sure if he felt the same; the thought of leaving, after such a happy reunion, felt as agonising as if they were being parted forever. It was a foolish notion, and there was no avoiding it – he had things that must be done. He could not help but think the reprieve would help him regain his senses; he felt utterly intoxicated, delirious with joy. This walk had only worsened the longing; indeed, the thoughts running through his head required a cold bath.
They walked back the way they had come, finding Miss Kity furiously waiting for them. She stomped ahead, clearly upset at the length of time their walk had taken. Elizabeth laughed off her sister’s fury easily; she would be appeased, he was assured, witha length of new ribbon and something sweet. They proceeded back to Longbourn, the house coming into view all too soon. They entered the garden, and he walked her to the front door.
“Will you come in?”
He shook his head. It would have been polite to come in and to make small talk with the Bennets, but he had no desire to spoil what had been a perfect time in his fiancée’s company. The warmth of her presence lingered, and he wished to preserve it - to cherish the silence that had been so wonderfully spent and leave it unmarred by the sound of his future mother-in-law’s voice. His longing for peace outweighed propriety tonight.
“I will return to Netherfield. Forgive me, but I must decline dinner. I must return to Netherfield and begin plans for your visit. Thank you, Elizabeth, for the most pleasant walk,” he said, his voice steady though his heart was anything but.
“You are welcome,” she replied simply, her smile soft but knowing, as if she could read the unspoken words in his expression.
For a moment, they stood as though on opposite shores of a quiet river. The affection that burned within him was, once more, suppressed by his own nature. It frustrated him to feel so restrained, so bound by decorum when his heart demanded otherwise. Yet, there she was - serene, self-assured, and always just beyond reach. Her amusement played lightly on her features, her eyes glinting as though she had unravelled the puzzle of his thoughts.
“I will see you in a few days, when you come to London,” he said, his tone measured and calm.
“Very well. I will miss you, Fitzwilliam,” she said, her voice softening, the faintest touch of vulnerability threading through her words.
His chest tightened at her admission.
“A few days, that is all,” he reassured her, though his own impatience matched hers.
“Will we often be apart when we are married?” she asked, her question laced with genuine curiosity. Her brow arched slightly, but there was no accusation, only an unguarded hopefulness that threatened to undo him.
“No,” he said, his resolve clear. “I will keep you with me always. It is only propriety that dictates you must remain here while we are unmarried.”
She tilted her head, her lips curving into a playful smile.
“Propriety is becoming rather tiresome,” she whispered, her words carrying a daring edge that made his breath hitch.
Her eyes, bright and unyielding, fixed on his with an intensity that both thrilled and unsettled him. The autumn light danced across her face, illuminating her spirit in a way that made her beauty seem almost otherworldly. In that moment, Fitzwilliam Darcy felt the full force of his fortune, and the weight of his restraint became nearly unbearable. He longed to close the distance between them, to gather her into his arms and carry her away from all the constraints of society.
Instead, he took her hand with care, bowing his head as he pressed a gentle kiss to the soft leather of her glove. It was a small gesture, but it carried the depth of all he dared not say.
“Farewell, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and reverent.
She inclined her head, her gaze lingering on him as though trying to capture the moment in memory.
“Farewell, Mr Darcy.”
