Page 63 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
“Have you come to a conclusion now?”
“I believe I have.” She straightened. “I was recalling the conversation we had when we were beneath the rubble, and I find myself wondering about something you said.”
Darcy stiffened slightly. “I said many things, Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to which statement you mean?”
She huffed a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “You are impossible.”
He smiled slightly, something like hope swelling in his heart. “I have recently suffered a head injury. You must make allowances.”
Another laugh, this one softer. Then she met his gaze fully. “Just before we were rescued, you said that you wished to ask me something.”
Darcy’s breath left him. She remembered.
He took a careful step forward. “I did.” He could actually see Elizabeth summoning her courage as her slight shoulders straightened and she lifted her chin.
She swallowed before she spoke. “Would you— I should like to hear that question.”
His chest tightened and he reached for her hand. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I admire and love you. I have done almost from our first meeting, though I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.”
She took a sharp breath, and a hint of colour rose in her cheeks.
Encouraged, he went on. “I love your wit. Your spirit. Your mind. Your kindness. I love you in a manner I never thought possible for me to love.”
She was silent, and he quickly thought back over his words to be sure he had not said anything amiss.
Then, softly, she added, “And the question?”
He felt the blood rush to his own cheeks. He had left out the most important part. “I had a different question then. But now . . . I would be honoured if you would agree to become my wife, Miss Elizabeth. Is it too soon to ask if you will marry me?”
“Yes. I mean no.” Elizabeth exhaled and smiled brightly up at him. “Yes, Mr. Darcy. I will marry you.”
Darcy wished to demonstrate his happiness as a man violently in love with a woman ought, but he was in a banyan, and she was still in pain. So he leaned forward slowly, carefully, to brush his lips against hers.
She was deeply red now, the flush spreading down her neck and—Darcy had to beat back an image of where else that blush was travelling.
No sooner had he regained his composure than she gazed at him mischievously. “I suppose I could not say anythingbutyes. Youwerenearly crushed on my behalf, after all.”
Darcy let out something between a laugh and a wheezy breath of relief.
“Quite right,” he agreed, unable to suppress his own smile now. “Surely that ought to count for something.”
Elizabeth shook her head at him and laughed softly. She was happy, and his heart was filled with love for her.
“You are absurd,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied. “And you love me.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Then, softly, she said, “Yes. I do.”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his joy. When he opened them again, Elizabeth was still watching him, a quiet stillness in her gaze.
Neither of them moved.
A heartbeat. Two.
Then, Elizabeth shook her head with a smile and squeezed the hand he still held.
“Come, Mr. Darcy. I believe you have a great many people to inform of your betrothal.” She glanced behind him, and Darcy turned to see a handsome woman a few years older than himself rising from a bench in the far corner of the garden.
