Page 76 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

I obeyed.

“I accepted you the first time because I was afraid,” she said. “You were right to doubt that yes. I accepted you a second time because I had chosen you. You demanded to hear it clearly. I told you last night that I loved you because it was true. How many times must I speak before you stop preferring your fears to my word?”

The lesson was just. Again.

I placed my hands on her hips.

“Once should be enough.”

“Indeed.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Granted, provided you don’t turn every morning of our marriage into an interrogation.”

“What may I do instead?”

Her gaze dropped between our bodies. I felt my desire stir beneath her with a swiftness ill-suited to her discomfort.

“Today,” she said, “you may order breakfast.”

I let my head fall back on the pillow.

“You are merciless.”

She laughed and leaned down to kiss me.

We remained in London one more day so she could rest. I showed her the house, the small gallery where several portraits of my family hung, the library that immediately became her favorite room. We wrote together to Longbourn and Netherfield. Elizabeth added to her mother’s letter a description of the guest room so detailed that I understood she was already preparing for a visit.

“You'll regret this invitation,” I told her.

“Certainly. But I'd regret it more if I didn't extend it.”

We left for Pemberley the next day.

The journey took several days. At each stop, Elizabeth showed interest in the landscapes, the people, the differences between counties. She spoke to the servants with an easy manner, never forcing a familiarity that would have been out of place. She asked me about the lands, the farms, the estate schools.

I watched her take her place in my life before we even arrived home.

When Pemberley finally appeared beyond the trees, she leaned toward the window.

The house stood on the far side of the river, vast but without undue grandeur, surrounded by wooded slopes. I awaited her verdict with ridiculous anxiety.

“It's magnificent,” she murmured.

“You never imagined it this way?”

“I had imagined a house as severe as its owner.”

“And are you disappointed?”

“Deeply. I shall have to find other subjects for mockery.”

I took her hand.

The servants waited for us on the steps. Mrs. Reynolds, who had managed the house since my childhood, stepped forward first. Her gaze settled on Elizabeth with warm curiosity.

“Welcome to Pemberley, madam.”