Page 69 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
“It is like stepping into a fairy tale,” Elizabeth added, her voice filled with delight. “Look how the lights reflect in the water!”
Darcy followed her gaze to the ornamental canal, where hundreds of lanterns created shimmering patterns on the dark surface. He had visited Vauxhall countless times throughout his life but seeing it through Elizabeth’s eyes made it feel entirely new. The pleasure gardens, with their winding paths and hidden grottos, their orchestras and firework displays, suddenly seemed magical rather than merely fashionable.
“Shall we secure a box for supper?” Mr Gardiner suggested, ever practical. “The evening is fine, and we can enjoy the musical entertainment from there.”
As they made their way towards the supper boxes, Darcy noticed how natural it felt to have Elizabeth at his side, how right this gathering seemed. Bingley and Jane walked ahead, lost in their own conversation, whilst the Gardiners followed behind, pointing out various attractions to one another. For once, their little party felt like a family rather than an arrangement of convenience.
They dined on the Gardens’ famous wafer-thin ham and syllabub, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. Elizabeth exclaimed over every new wonder—the cascade with its artificial waterfall, the rotunda where couples danced beneath the stars, the Grand Walk where the ton paraded in their finest attire.
“Would you care to explore the darker walks?” Darcy asked as the Gardiners settled into comfortable conversation with Jane and Bingley. “They are quite beautiful in the evening light.”
Elizabeth’s eyes met his, and something passed between them—an understanding, perhaps, that this evening held possibilities beyond mere entertainment.
“I should like that very much,” she replied.
They excused themselves from the party and ventured into the network of smaller paths that wound through the gardens’ more secluded areas. Here, the lamps were fewer and more intimate, creating pools of golden light amongst the shadows. The sounds of the main thoroughfares faded to a gentle murmur.
“I confess,” Elizabeth said as they walked along a path bordered by fragrant lilacs, “I had never imagined anything quite like this. It seems a world apart from ordinary life.”
“It is meant to be,” Darcy replied. “A place where the usual rules of society are… softened, shall we say. Where one might speak more freely than in a drawing room.”
She glanced at him sideways. “And what would you speak freely about, Mr Darcy?”
They had reached a small clearing where a bench sat beneath an ornamental arbour. Beyond it, the Thames wound its way through the darkness, dotted with the lights of passing wherries. Darcy gestured towards the seat, and Elizabeth settled beside him, her silk skirts rustling.
“I would speak of regrets,” he said finally. “And of wishes that I perhaps have no right to voice.”
“What sort of regrets?”
“That our courtship began as a deception. That every moment we have shared has been shadowed by the knowledge that it is temporary.” He turned to face her more fully. “And my greatest regret—that I may have allowed pride to prevent me from acknowledging what I should have recognised long ago.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught slightly. “And what is that?”
“That what began as convenience has become something far more precious.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “That the thought of ending our arrangement, of returning to mere acquaintance, has become unbearable.”
The silence stretched between them, filled only with the distant strains of a violin and the gentle lapping of water against the embankment. Elizabeth’s hands lay folded in her lap, and Darcy noticed how her fingers trembled slightly.
“I find myself sharing those same regrets,” she said at last. “These weeks have shown me… that is, I have discovered…”
“What have you discovered?”
“That I do not wish this to end either.” The words emerged in a rush, as though she had been holding them back for weeks. “That somewhere amidst all our pretending, I have ceased to pretend at all.”
Joy flooded through Darcy’s chest like sunrise breaking over a landscape, he reached for her hand. She did not pull away but instead allowed their fingers to intertwine.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured.
“Yes?”
“May I?” But the question was answered before he could finish it, as she leaned closer, her face tilted up towards his.
Their lips met, tentatively at first, then with growing certainty as the last barriers between them crumbled away. This was no performance for watching eyes, no calculated gesture of their charade. This was honest and real and filled with the promise of everything they had not dared to hope for.
When they finally drew apart, Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Whatever happens now,” she whispered, “I am glad we have had this moment of truth.”
“There will be many more such moments,” Darcy replied, lifting their joined hands to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “I promise you that.”
