Page 69 of Darcy's Guarded Heart
The Earl of Matlock had not disowned his niece and nephew outright, but his displeasure had been made quite clear. There had been no offer of congratulations, and his silence was as deliberate as any statement. Meanwhile, the scandal sheets had wasted no time in embellishing every detail, from Georgiana’s supposed elopement to Thomas’s humble origins.
That morning, Elizabeth sat at the breakfast table, one such paper open before her, frowning at the bold headline,Heiress Marries Pauper: The Fall of a Darcy.
“Pauper,” she muttered, crumpling the edge of the paper. “They make it sound as though he lives under a hedge.”
Darcy entered just in time to hear the remark. He took a cup of tea from the sideboard and crossed the room, sitting beside her.
“You mustn’t let them bother you,” he said lightly. “The scandal sheets see what they wish to see. We know the truth. They called me a recluse the week before last. I consider Thomas in rather good company.”
She laughed then and pushed the paper aside. They sat together, shoulders nearly touching, as the late morning sun filtered through the windows.
In the three months since that day on the road, they had spent more time together than Elizabeth would have believed possible—planning the wedding, arranging the accommodations at Netherfield, walking the grounds of Longbourn and Pemberley. They had watched Jane and Bingley marry and settle in a comfortable house in the north, and they had made plans for Georgiana and Thomas to spend some months at Pemberley, where Thomas would begin his training under Darcy’s steward.
It was a peaceful morning, despite the bustle around them.
“I have been thinking,” Elizabeth said, her tone light. “With all these weddings—first Jane and Mr Bingley, now Georgiana and Thomas—you must be growing quite fond of them.”
Darcy tilted his head. “You may be right. I used to think weddings tiresome and overwrought, but now I find them… rather charming.”
Elizabeth grinned. “You’ve developed a taste for weddings, then?”
“It seems I have,” he said, returning her smile. “Though I imagine they would be more enjoyable if one were not constantly defending one’s household against absurd rumours.”
Elizabeth’s laughter bubbled out. “Yes, well… I suppose all things considered; you’ve borne it quite well.”
He looked at her more closely then, and she met his gaze.
“I’ve also had time to think,” she said, her voice quieter now. “About many things.”
Darcy held his breath.
“And I’ve come to the conclusion,” she continued, “that there is nothing I want more than to become Mrs Darcy.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Darcy blinked. “You do?”
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes shining. “I’ve had time to watch you—to see who you truly are. Not just a gentleman with an estate and a name, but a man of honour. A man who admits his faults, protects those he loves, and makes every effort to right his wrongs.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. “I had hoped. But I did not dare to presume.”
She smiled. “We’re doing everything backwards, you know. I’ve just given you my answer before you’ve properly proposed.”
He laughed—an unguarded, joyful sound—and stood.
“Then allow me to correct that.”
He dropped to one knee, right there in the breakfast room.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, taking her hand in his, “will you marry me?”
She laughed through tears and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I will.”
He stood and drew her up gently. They stood close now, and the rest of the world fell away.
“There is something I must say,” she added. “We both know that our marriage will make reconciliation with your family even more difficult.”
“I do not care,” Darcy said without hesitation. “It was said to me once, and it is true—we are all family now. The Bennets, the Darcys, the Bingleys.”
