Instead, all eyes were firmly attached to Elizabeth, who was standing across from Mr. Darcy, as they waited for the remainder of the line to assemble.
At first, when Mr. Darcy had escorted her to the floor, there had been only a ripple of whispers running through the crowd as they gawked at him, but soon after, all eyes turned to her, and they had not neglected her since. She hoped the novelty of having Mr. Darcy dance the first set was temporary, for if this continued every time they danced—three sets, which also included sitting down for supper together—she expected it would be an exceptionally long evening, indeed.
The music began, and they made their first moves.
It was the very same song as their first of their set at Netherfield had been, so naturally, that evening recurred to her, along with the way she had teased him. He had not spoken for the entire first dance—which, most likely, would have lasted the entire thirty minutes together if she had not demanded they have some sort of conversation.
However, tonight, his silence was not as awkward, or at least not in the same way. His gaze communicated a great volume of sentiments, and she found that trying to identify what they were—and what they meant—was consuming her attention completely. The remainder of the world ceased to exist.
When the required movements finally brought him close to her, Mr. Darcy said, “I am debating whether to ride along with Bingley when he journeys to Hertfordshire.”
The dance demanded they draw apart.
When they came together again, all she could manage was, “Oh?”
What a brilliant conversationalist you are, Lizzy! she scolded herself inwardly.
He nodded then responded at his next opportunity, “Whether I travel with him depends upon you, Miss Elizabeth.”
“How could I have any influence over your travel plans?” she asked as they joined hands once again.
“May I speak to you privately at some point this evening? In place of the second dance of this set, perhaps?”
They returned to their starting positions whilst Jane and Mr. Bingley went through their required movements. Mr. Darcy’s gaze never left her for a moment, and the force of his look caused a shiver to pass up her spine.
What could he possibly wish to speak to her about? His sister, perhaps? But why would he require privacy to speak to her about Georgiana?
Unless—Oh! Mr. Bingley planned to go to Longbourn to ask permission to marry Jane. If Mr. Darcy’s intent to go with him depended upon speaking to her in private first…
Surely, it could not be!
There was only one way to find out.
She nodded her permission for a private audience across the space between them.
The light in his eyes intensified.
Good heavens!
When the music ended, he bowed as she curtsied, then he walked across, took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and escorted her from the ballroom. They proceeded down a corridor, away from the people and noise. For a fleeting moment, she hoped no one saw them leave the crowded rooms together, but her mind was so occupied with what he might have to say to her, she decided she did not care.
Before long, he opened the door to a family parlour, beautifully decorated for the holidays. He closed the door behind them, then drew her to the center of the room. He took her hand from his arm but did not release it.
Her heart raced.
She expected him to begin speaking immediately, but he hesitated. An expression of alarm crossed his visage.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth… you must allow me to tell you...” Mr. Darcy paused to take a deep breath, then began again. “I have long considered you the most intelligent and handsomest lady of my acquaintance. Over time, my admiration grew until…” He hesitated again. A deep vulnerability surfaced in his expression. After searching her eyes, pure affection took its place. “I love you, utterly and completely. Please, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
Tears stung her eyes and her throat thickened. She breathed, “Yes. Yes, I will. I will marry you, Mr. Darcy.”
The smile that lit his face was the most handsome she had ever seen. She could not help but return it, matching his enthusiasm.
If this was a dream, never did she want to awaken!
He pulled a red velvet bag from his breast pocket and tipped it into his hand, revealing an exquisite diamond and emerald necklace. “Will you accept this as a token of my affection?”
She nodded. “It is lovely.”
He moved behind her and fastened the gold chain around her neck. It was the perfect length for the neckline of her gown, and it did not interfere with her cross at all. His fingers lingered against her skin for just a moment, then he removed them and leaned in, his mouth close to her ear, whispering, “It was my mother’s, and it belonged to my father’s mother before her.”
If that were the case, she wondered if some of those in attendance would recognize it. Perhaps he was even counting on it? After all, last evening, he had said he wished she could dance with no one other than him.
As he came around and stood before her, he maintained a small distance between them.
“There is a matching ring I would like to gift you at our wedding.”
Our wedding. It sounded divine!
“I am honoured.”
His gaze briefly moved to her lips. “Elizabeth…” he breathed. “May I kiss you?”
She nodded. “It seems almost required, Fitzwilliam.”
He inhaled deeply before asking, “Since we are betrothed?”
Elizabeth’s smile widened. “In addition to…” She glanced upward.
Hanging from the chandelier was a cluster of mistletoe.
“I wonder who could have placed it there?” He asked, slyly.
She chuckled. “I have a feeling it was the same person who carefully situated me under it.”
His eyes twinkled with mirth, then they darted to her lips once more.
She raised her chin. He bent forward, his arms coming up to surround her. She raised her hands to his chest and closed her eyes.
The first was the softest of kisses, followed by a few more that became increasingly impassioned. He suddenly pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, whispering, “I love you, Elizabeth.”
She pulled back a little, so she could look into his eyes. “I had always promised myself I would never marry unless I felt the deepest love. I do, Fitzwilliam.”
He blinked several times in quick succession, then pulled her towards him again, swooping in for another kiss, after which he informed her, “Then I am truly blessed.”
Epilogue
~Friday, 13 December 1811 – Longbourn Estate, Hertfordshire
Darcy tore his eyes away from his lovely fiancée—his fiancée!—and looked down at the wreath he and Elizabeth were almost finished constructing. Apparently, it was a tradition to remove the painting above the hearth in the parlour at Longbourn and place one there every Christmastide.
Bingley and Jane were at the next table making a similar wreath for the entrance door to the house, and Georgiana was helping her future sister Mary assemble a decorative piece for the banister leading above stairs.
When he had arrived here yesterday, he had, at first, been surprised there were few ornamentations already displayed, until he remembered Elizabeth had said it was Jane and she who made them, along with their sister Mary. Mary Bennet had fashioned a few trimmings, but the bulk had not yet been done.