Page 228 of What Change Entails

For a moment, all the words that had carried them from Hunsford to Pemberley, from Pemberley to Longbourn, seemed to retreat. He looked tired still. Dust remained upon one boot. His face bore the strain of travel, hope, and her father’s humor. His eyes were clear.

“Elizabeth,” he said, taking her hand, “I came to ask you properly.”

“I know.”

“I love you. I believe I shall spend the rest of my life discovering new ways in which that is true.”

“I have no grand speech,” he continued. “I had several. Your father injured one of them beyond use.”

Elizabeth laughed, though tears had begun gathering in her eyes.

“I ask this. Will you marry me? Why should I wait for tomorrow when I could have your answer today?”

“Yes,” she said.

The word came easily. Joyfully. Without argument or fear.

His hand closed over hers.

“Yes?”

“Yes, Fitzwilliam. I will marry you.”

He bent over her hand, pressing his lips to her fingers with such reverence that her breath deserted her. When he raised his head, she stepped nearer, fully prepared to forget every rule governing shrubbery, fathers, and open windows.

A branch cracked behind them.

Lydia stepped into view.

All three froze.

Lydia’s eyes widened.

“Oh!” She clapped both hands over her face, though her fingers rapidly parted. “Oh, heavens. I did not see anything.”

“Lydia,” Elizabeth said.

“I mean, I saw enough to know I should not have seen it.” Lydia backed away, cheeks flaming. “Do continue. No, do not continue. I am leaving. I am gone. Kitty! They are engaged!”

“Lydia!” Elizabeth cried.

Her sister’s footsteps flew down the path.

Mr. Darcy covered his eyes with one hand.

Elizabeth leaned against him and laughed until she could scarcely stand.

“You are certain,” he said, “that you wish to bring me into this family?”

“Too late to retreat now.”

“I had no thought of retreat.”

“Then welcome to Longbourn.”

He looked down at her, one hand still holding hers. “And soon, I hope, you will welcome me home.”

By the time they reached the house, Mrs. Bennet had recovered enough to weep, exclaim, embrace Elizabeth, praise Mr. Darcy’s income, apologize for mentioning it, then mention it again. Mr. Bennet retreated to his library with the air of a man who had done his duty and deserved peace for the remainder of the day. Mary played a hymn because she felt the occasion required seriousness. Kitty demanded every detail Lydia had not already shouted.