Page 10 of The Gossip War
I suspect Jane thought I was about to be overwhelmed, so she asked, “Why keep it hidden?”
He seemed to realise I needed a little space to breathe and turned his attention to her without releasing my hands.
“The same reason you do! I assume your beauty attracts all kinds of attention, good and bad, but mostly bad, so you hide behind a mask of serenity and complacency. Imagine that times ten and you will understand me.”
Jane startled, but not for long. “I understand.”
He turned his full attention back to me and quite took me by surprise with a smile that would melt a horseshoe, leaned forward even closer, and squeezed my hand even tighter.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would you do me the great honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”
Even though he had been working his way up to the declaration for some time, it was still shocking to hear it stated so boldly and clearly. This was serious business, and I had to make a life-altering, irreversible decision, at two in the morning.
Once he said his piece, he seemed content to give me the time I needed to think about it (much to his credit).
I spent some time looking back and forth between Jane and Mr Darcy, wondering if either of them would give me the certainty I needed.
Jane finally made a sensible suggestion. “Lizzy, I would very much prefer a more ordinary courtship than having you go from intense dislike to love in an hour.”
She then reached out to take my shoulder, which was all she could conveniently grab since Mr Darcy still had hold of my hands (which I was surprisingly sanguine about).
“That said, you must concede that this issue is time sensitive. While your plan was brilliant in its simplicity, it does put ourfamily at risk. A war between the Bennets and the Bingleys might not go down quite so well as one between the Bingleys and the Darcys. You do not have to decide now… but soon.”
Mr Darcy was still holding my hands. “The offer is open as long as it takes you to decide, but I agree with Miss Bennet’s sensible idea that sooner beats later. May I suggest something?”
“Of course!”
“Let us do that which is unambiguously required, and defer things that require contemplation. You might like council from your parents?”
I did my best not to snort (partially successful at best), and joked, “Perhaps I can drag Kitty and Lydia from their beds and ask them!”
Mr Darcy looked somewhere between shocked and amused but surprised me by laughing heartily. I admit, at least from an appearance’s standpoint, the man was blasted handsome when he laughed and smiled at me like that (yes, yes, I know… unladylike language, cliches, and so forth).
I settled down, and just for good form, I gave a smile just for him (the first ever).
“I do not trust anybody’s advice except Jane’s but let us return to Longbourn. I will answer before the cock crows.
Mr Darcy quite gallantly pulled my bare hands to his lips and smiled. “That is sensible.”
My thoughts were in turmoil and roiling around in circles (to which the kiss on my hands was not the least bit helpful), but I had to admit that not all of them were against the man from Derbyshire.
Mr Darcy was proving himself, at least in this matter, to be all that a gentleman ought to be.
Netherfield Courtyard, 2:30 AM, Darcy
It was harder to convince my Elizabeth to get on my horse than it was to get her to agree to marry me.
Of course, she kicked the rock down the hill that resulted in my unorthodox proposal, but when we climbed aboard my horse in the middle of that cold November night, we were not in fact engaged and might never be.
She had the temerity to explain why walking was better than riding using irrefutable logic. Since she could walk perfectly safely in the moonlight at three miles per hour while a walking horse could only manage four (and even a trot would be dangerous, let alone a canter), she asserted it would be faster to walk when one considered the time spent tacking up. It irked me to admit (silently, of course) that she made sense. Horses were only more efficient over longer distances, or higher speeds (Blast!).
I almost succumbed to her logic (wherealmostis a euphemism fordid not even come close), but I finally pressed Miss Bennet’s health as the reason to ride—an argument Elizabeth could not, in good conscience, ignore. Even Miss Bennet’s assurances that she was perfectly able to walk could not be taken seriously at three in the morning in mid-November after four days sick in bed.
I took the trouble to ask if Elizabeth preferred to sit sidewise like a lady riding side-saddle; or astride, which would be unladylike in broad daylight, but had the advantage of being safer. She chose side-saddle, which I liked very much, as it would be impossible to see her beautiful face if she were astride, and I have been a selfish being all my life.
In the end, I had no idea whether she was more afraid of horses or being close to me—but she was nervous enough to be shaking as I lifted her from the mounting block to the front ofmy saddle. I admit that, when I held her in place with my hands gripping her waist tightly whilst looking anxiously at her face for signs of fear, I might have held on for a moment or two beyond what was necessary. Better safe than sorry.
When I tacked up the horses without any aid or fumbling, she seemed mildly curious, but not overly so. I suspected the previous day she probably considered me too haughty to be capable of any such action; but I reckoned that the evening’s events had caused her to re-evaluate much of what she thought about me, much as I was doing with her.
