Page 40 of Infamous Relations

“No, dearest Elizabeth, it was not,” Darcy squeezed gently on her hand, fished his handkerchief from his pocket and reached to blot the tear tenderly from her cheek. “The more I think on it, the more I realise that I gave you absolutely no reason to trust me.”

“Neither did Mr. Wickham, and I was stupid enough to believe in his lies!” she sobbed.

“Oh, please, my dearest, do not weep. I behaved appallingly in Hertfordshire long before Wickham darkened the county with his presence.” He blotted more tears away gently. “I have yet one more apology to make to you, in any case. The way in which I spoke of your family was unforgivable. Your younger sisters may be silly, but none of them have sought to elope with a man far below their station in life. Your mother may flutter and display an occasional want of propriety, but she is far less obnoxious in seeking to marry her daughters off well than my own aunt. And your father may sometimes fail to correct his daughters, but at least he is not sending them off unsupervised save for a woman he barely knows, to be seduced by rogues!”

Elizabeth laughed through her tears. “I think we can only say that neither of us have the most perfect of relations. I have my dear Jane, you have your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam; we must count ourselves lucky and manage the rest as best we may.”

“You are as wise as you are beautiful,” Darcy chuckled at little. “Please do not cry any more, my dearest. Nothing has happened between us that cannot be mended, I hope, with some more efforts to actually talk and listen to each other?” He ended on a questioning note, looking at her hopefully.

His large hand was still holding hers, his fingers warm and strong. Looking down at it, Elizabeth took a deep breath before looking at him.

“Nothing has happened between us that cannot be mended, Mr. Darcy, but you know that I am ruined.”

“You are not!” he said indignantly, and so sternly that she blinked and the tears stopped. “Mr. Collins was a disgusting excuse for a man, and though I never thought I would say this about another human being, I am glad he is dead. No matter what he did to you, though,” his free hand, still holding the handkerchief, came up to cradle her cheek, “it makes no difference to who you are; you are still Elizabeth Bennet, the most admirable, remarkable lady it has ever been my privilege to encounter.”

They stared at each other for a few moments in silence before Elizabeth whispered “Oh, Mr. Darcy.”

“My name is Fitzwilliam,” he said, “which I concede is rather confusing, so Georgiana and my closest friends and relatives call me Will. If you could possibly consider doing that in private…”

“Will.”

Darcy had to close his eyes for a moment, overcome with emotion. When he opened them, all he could say was “Would that I had the courage in Hertfordshire to speak my heart!”

“I do not think that I would have been any more prepared to hear it then, than I was a few days ago,” Elizabeth admitted.

Another brief silence fell, but unlike every other that had fallen between them, there was no tension, only an ease in each other’s company that had never been there before.

“My timing is, it seems, exceedingly bad,” Darcy said finally. “I want nothing more than to ask you if I may go to your father right now to seek his blessing…”

“That is a truly terrible idea,” Elizabeth could not help a small giggle at the thought of her father’s outrage if Darcy did as he suggested.

Darcy smiled back at her, a most unexpected dimple appearing in his cheek that she had previously had no idea he possessed. She stared at it in fascination.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice softer, deeper than before, “I think that you need to stop looking at me like that or I will be the one to compromise you.”

Her breath came more quickly, her eyes widened, but she did not speak. Not until he leaned closer, his eyes locked on hers, and then, only to whisper a soft “Will,” as her eyes drifted closed.

The kiss was the merest brush of lips, Darcy’s fingers lightly caressing her cheek, twining one long dark curl around his finger. He still held onto it when he drew back, looking at her face, her closed eyes, the soft smile on her lips.

“Elizabeth,” he said tenderly.

She said nothing, but she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

“We have to wait,” Darcy said reluctantly.

“I know.”

Slowly, he dropped his hand from her face. “I am sure you will be returning to Hertfordshire soon, and regardless of my feelings for Lady Catherine, I must enter official mourning for three months at least.”

“As must I, for Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said with a grimace. They shared a mutual glance of distaste before Darcy spoke again.

“Since Georgiana must also enter mourning, I will remove her to Pemberley for the duration of the summer. Bingley, I think, will likely return to Netherfield this autumn and I shall come to visit him there.”

Elizabeth gave him an arch smile as he finally dropped his hand from her face, let go of her hand. “I am sure that many of your acquaintance in Hertfordshire will be delighted to see your return.”

“You know well that there is only one of my Hertfordshire acquaintance whom I hope will be pleased to see me.”

“I am sure that Sir William Lucas will be positively ecstatic to once again talk with you about his visits to St James!”