Page 78 of Penned By Mr Darcy
He held the box out wordlessly towards her, and she plucked it from him. She did not open it as he expected, but rather turned and set it down on the bed. Then, she turned and walked over to her own dressing table and pulled open one of the drawers.
“I have got you something, too.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It is something I owe you, I think.”
She removed a rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper, and returned to him. He knew what it was without opening it, for he would know the shape and size anywhere.
“Elizabeth…”
“Open it,” she said softly. “Please.”
He unfastened the wrappings, his heart hammering as he saw a glimpse of the familiar leather. It was the diary he had always used, from Lambton.
“I wrote and asked to order the diary you prefer,” Elizabeth explained. “It is my fault that you lost your old one, and perhaps you have already replaced it, but this one can be added to your stocks.”
“I have not replaced it,” he said, discarding the last of the wrapping and letting it fall to the floor between them as he turned the book over in his hands. “I have not kept a diary since that day.”
“Why not?”
“I do not know,” he shrugged. “I felt no urge to.”
“Then it is a poor present.”
“No. I am touched that you went to such lengths for me. I think I shall save this for the very best – for all the happy days to come.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
He leant down, kissing her softly as he held the diary between them. As she pulled away, she looked up at him.
“May I open mine now?” she asked, a mischievous grin on her face.
“Of course.”
Her delicate fingers made quick work of the jewellery box, and he watched as her face lit up.
“How beautiful,” she sighed. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, it is so dainty! And the sapphire…I am sure it is finer than the bluest ocean. It is too much.”
“I do not believe any gift could equal what you have already given me, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.
She coloured a little, though her eyes sparkled. “And yet I cannot think of it without shame - that I intruded upon your diary. I marvel still that you did not despise me for it.”
“I was displeased,” he admitted, his voice low and deliberate. “But anger could not withstand the truth that was before me. You must know…I must tell you that my heart was already undone. If there was folly, it was only in how fiercely I wanted you to know me. In time I understood: it was love.”
“I am sorry, nevertheless,” she said earnestly. “I would not wound you for the world.”
He looked at her, all reserve gone.
“I know.”
With a mischievous smile, she continued.
“Then I solemnly vow never again to pry into whatever you may choose to set upon paper. A husband must have some private sanctuary, must he not?”
He took her hand gently, lifting it to his lips for a lingering kiss, then held it against his cheek, for her could not bear to let her go.
