Page 37 of Mr. Darcy's Bargain Bride
“Overwhelming?” Elizabeth suggested.
“Indeed. When my father died, I inherited not merely property and wealth, but the duty to preserve everything he and his forebears had built. The tenants depend upon wise management for their livelihoods. The staff require steady employment. The community looks to Pemberley for leadership and stability.” His jaw tightened with some tension. “And now there is Ambrose to consider as well.”
Elizabeth heard something in his tone that made her study his profile more closely. “You fear for his future.”
The simple statement seemed to unlock something within him. “Every night I lie awake wondering if I am making the right decisions for his welfare. What if my refusal to negotiate with Wickham proves disastrous? What if the courts rule against us despite our conviction that his claims are fraudulent? The thought of losing Ambrose…” His voice cracked slightly. “It would destroy me as surely as losing my parents did.”
The raw vulnerability in his admission touched Elizabeth deeply. Here was the truth beneath his composed exterior—a man carrying burdens that would crush lesser souls, driven by love and duty in equal measure.
“I understand that fear completely,” she said softly, moving closer to his side. “When I first held Ambrose during his illness at Netherfield, something shifted within my heart. Now the thought of him being taken from us terrifies me beyond reason. He has become my child in every way that matters.”
Darcy turned to face her fully, his dark eyes searching her expression. “Do you ever regret the path that brought you to this point? The marriage born of necessity rather than choice, the responsibility for a boy who is not your own by birth?”
Elizabeth considered his question with the honesty he deserved. “There are moments when I wonder what my life might have been had circumstances been different. But regret? No. I have found purpose here that I never expected. Meaning in caring for Ambrose, satisfaction in managing the household, genuine pleasure in becoming part of the local community.”
“And what of your dreams for the future? Surely as a young woman, you harboured hopes for romance, for a love match rather than this practical arrangement?”
His words stirred something deep within her chest—a longing she had tried to suppress in favour of contentment with what she had been given. “I’ll admit I once dreamed of a life filled with meaning, deep affection, and children who would call me mother without reservation.”
“There was a time,” Darcy said quietly, his gaze fixed on the flowing water beneath the bridge, “when I believed such happiness was impossible for men in my position. That duty and responsibility precluded the luxury of genuine affection or domestic joy. I thought myself destined for a marriage of convenience at best, perhaps to some suitable young lady who would provide heirs and manage social obligations whilst we lived essentially separate lives.”
“And now?”
“Now I see that perhaps all three—meaning, love, and family—might coexist within the same life. That duty need not eliminate the possibility of happiness.”
The hope in his voice made Elizabeth’s pulse quicken. “Do you truly believe that?”
Instead of answering with words, he stepped closer, his hands rising to frame her face with infinite tenderness. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, and then his lips were touching hers with a gentleness that sent her thundering in her chest.
The kiss was nothing like the brief, perfunctory salute at their wedding ceremony. This was warm and lingering, filled with all the emotions they had been too cautious to express aloud. She felt herself melting against him, her hands clutching at his coat as she returned the gesture with surprising enthusiasm.
The familiar scent of sandalwood that clung to his skin mingled with the crisp autumn air, whilst the distant murmur of the stream provided a musical backdrop to the lovely moment. When they finally parted, both were breathing rather unsteadily. Elizabeth’s cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration, whilst Darcy’s usually perfect composure had been thoroughly disrupted.
“I should apologise,” he said, though his tone suggested no genuine remorse. “That was perhaps presumptuous of me.”
“Was it?” she asked with a shy smile. “I confess I found it rather pleasant. Rather like the romantic novels you once disparaged, though considerably more affecting than I had anticipated from mere literary description.”
His answering smile transformed his entire countenance. “Then perhaps I owe those authors an apology as well.”
***
They remounted their horses and continued their circuit of the estate, though the atmosphere between them had shiftedinto something altogether more intimate. She felt as though she were seeing a familiar landscape through new eyes, every vista made more beautiful by the growing understanding between them.
As they approached the house, however, Darcy’s expression grew more serious. “Elizabeth, I must confess something that has been troubling my conscience. When I proposed marriage, it was during a crisis that left you little choice but to accept. I fear you may feel trapped by circumstances rather than free to choose your own path.”
She reined in her mare to face him directly. “Do you believe I am so weak-willed that I would remain in a situation I found truly objectionable? Or so lacking in courage that I could not find means to escape if I wished?”
“Not weak-willed, certainly. But perhaps constrained by honour and duty, as I have been for most of my life.”
“Then let me speak plainly,” she said with characteristic directness. “I entered our marriage for Ambrose’s sake, yes. But I remain in it by choice. Fighting for his future is not a burden I bear reluctantly—it is exactly what I want to do. He is my son now in every way that matters, and I would not surrender that role for all the romantic freedom in England.”
Relief flooded his features at her firm declaration. “And what of the rest? This life we are building together, the partnership we seem to be developing?”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm as she prepared to voice the truth she had been discovering within her own heart. “I want this life not only for Ambrose’s sake, but because I have come to value you deeply as well. You are a good man, Fitzwilliam Darcy—perhaps better than you know yourself. I am honoured to share your name and your burdens.”
“Elizabeth…” Her name on his lips carried a wealth of emotion.
“There is something else I must tell you,” she continued, gathering her courage. “What began as duty and mutual concern for Ambrose has become something far more personal. I find myself thinking of you more positively and treasuring moments like this when we can speak freely without the world’s expectations pressing upon us.”
