Page 52 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
Darcy’s expression lightened. “I never doubted it. Still, I wished to warn you. Bingley knows nothing of her ambitions, or at least pretends not to for the sake of domestic peace.”
“We shall weather her disappointment together.”
“Together,” Darcy repeated, the word carrying the weight of a promise. “That is how I wish us to face all that lies ahead.”
The moment hung between them, fragile and perfect. Then, with a boldness that surprised herself, Elizabeth leaned across the carriage and pressed her lips to his in a brief, sweet kiss. “Together,” she agreed as she drew back.
Darcy looked stunned, then pleased. His hand came up to cup her cheek, and he leaned forward to return the gesturewith a kiss that lingered longer, deepened beyond the chaste exchange of moments before.
When they parted, Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered, a new awareness of possibilities that lay before them. No longer simply companions, but a man and woman discovering genuine feeling for one another.
“When we return to Pemberley,” Darcy said, “there will be much to discuss. Much to decide.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, thinking again of her Wickham secret, of the true marriage they had envisioned, of the future that seemed suddenly to hold greater promise than she had dared hope. “But for now, let us face Netherfield and all it entails.”
Darcy nodded, squeezing her hand once more before releasing it. “Bingley’s sisters, your family, my relations—none of it signifies compared to what lies between us.”
As the carriage rounded a bend, Elizabeth felt both trepidation and hope rising within her. The coming days would test them both, bringing confrontations they had thus far avoided. Yet for the first time, she faced such prospects with the certainty that she did not stand alone.
Whatever lay ahead, they would meet it together—not as strangers bound by a hasty bargain, but as partners who had discovered, against all expectation, the beginnings of love.
Chapter 18
Elizabeth
31st August 1812
Netherfield Park emerged from the morning mist as the Darcy carriage approached from the south road. Elizabeth leaned forward, her gaze drawn not to their destination but to the familiar lane branching eastward—the road to Longbourn. They would pass within a quarter of a mile of her childhood home, yet would not stop. Her father’s letter had been clear, they were welcome to call at their convenience, but no invitation to stay had been extended, the presumption being they would reside at Netherfield.
As the crossroads approached, Elizabeth’s chest tightened. So near to home, yet unable to turn towards it—the sensation was not unlike the dreams she sometimes had where her legs would not obey her will to move. She pressed her fingers against the carriage window, tempted to call out to the driver.
Darcy’s hand closed over hers, drawing it gently away from the glass. “We shall call tomorrow,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, though her eyes remained fixed on the lane as they passed it. “It is merely strange to be so close and yet…”
“Would you prefer to stop now? I could send word to Bingley that we have been delayed.”
The offer was genuine, but Elizabeth shook her head. “No. I shall send word when we arrive at Netherfield.”
Darcy’s fingers tautened around hers. “Then we shall abide by your preference. But know that when we do call at Longbourn, we shall do so together.”
“Thank you,” she managed, turning back to him. “For understanding.”
They passed the crossroads, the lane to Longbourn disappearing behind them as the carriage continued north. Elizabeth fixed her gaze resolutely ahead. Netherfield Park awaited them, and with it, the beginning of their entry into society as husband and wife.
The carriage wheels crunched on Netherfield’s immaculately raked gravel as they arrived. Mr Bingley himself stood waiting on the steps. Elizabeth, though she had never met him, recognised him at once from Darcy’s descriptions. Beside him, a tall, elegant young woman maintained a posture of practised grace, her fashionable gown and perfectly arranged curls suggesting considerable effort had been expended on her appearance.
“Darcy!” Bingley exclaimed the moment the carriage door opened. “What excellent time you have made! We did not expect you until afternoon.”
“The roads were unexpectedly good,” Darcy replied, descending before assisting Elizabeth. “Bingley, may I present my wife, Mrs Darcy? Elizabeth, Charles Bingley.”
Bingley’s lips curled upwards appreciatively as he bowed. “Mrs Darcy! A pleasure indeed. Your sister has spoken of you with such warmth that I feel we are already acquainted.”
“You are most kind, Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth replied, taking an immediate liking to her husband’s friend. His manner was perfectly open, his smile genuine in a way that required no artifice. “My sister’s letters have been similarly complimentary of you.”
A flush of pleasure coloured Bingley’s cheeks. “Has she? I am gratified to hear it. But come, you must be weary from your journey. Allow me to present my sister, Miss Bingley.”
The elegant young woman stepped forward, offering the barest curtsy. “Mrs Darcy,” she said, her cool gaze making a swift assessment. “How fortunate you are to have captured Mr Darcy’s regard so… expeditiously. We had no notion he was contemplating matrimony when last we met.”
