Page 61 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

He kissed my forehead.

“Three weeks,” he said.

“Two weeks and five days.”

His eyes lit up.

“You’re counting.”

“Only to help your arithmetic.”

We left the pavilion separately and made our way back to the main path with far from perfect dignity.

That evening, lying in bed, I thought of his hand on my body and the promise of what would come after the wedding.

I was no longer afraid of marrying him.

I was only afraid of the time still standing between us.

Chapter 19

Darcy

The night before my wedding, Bingley attempted to get me drunk.

His method lacked subtlety. He had a bottle of cognac brought to Netherfield’s library, along with two glasses and enough good cheer for three men. Then he filled my glass before I had even agreed to drink.

“To tomorrow,” he declared.

“We are unlikely to avoid it.”

“You could appear more enthusiastic.”

I looked at the clock.

“Twelve hours until the ceremony.”

“Eleven hours and fifty-eight minutes, if you keep staring at it like that.”

I took a sip solely to give him something quieter to do. He settled across from me, legs stretched toward the fire, with the quiet satisfaction of a man married two weeks and already convinced he possessed vast marital expertise.

“You are worried,” he said.

“No.”

“Darcy, you have shuffled the same papers three times, corrected a letter that had no errors, and asked my valet whether the church might disappear during the night.”

“I asked whether the rain might make the road impassable.”

“You would have had the entire parish transported to Pemberley if the answer had been yes.”

I set down my glass.

“Elizabeth changed her mind once.”

“She will not change it tomorrow.”

“She has the right.”