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He was desperately tempted to kiss his beloved, but his reason intruded. He did not think sitting next to her dead father was the most opportune time to create the memory of their first kiss. Reassuring himself that he would not need to wait much longer, he pulled his hand away, putting more distance between the two of them.

“You still puzzle me exceedingly,” Elizabeth admitted softly.

“Ask me anything. I hope that one day you will know me better than any other.”

While Elizabeth tried to sort through the muddled thoughts swirling around her brain, a question fell from her lips before she had truly settled on the best question to ask.

“How can you be certain that you love me?”

“Because of the way I desperately missed you while we were parted. I left Hertfordshire in November with no plan to return. It was unacceptable for me to align myself with a poor country miss from a vulgar family with no connections. I thought my feelings for you were an infatuation that I could easily conquer. Instead, I found myself comparing every lady that I met with you. Every single one was found wanting.

“When I visited Lady Catherine, and realized you were visiting at the parsonage, I quickly determined to see you again, to see if the image I had retained in my mind was accurate. Watching you converse with my cousin was like a breath of fresh air. I have never looked forward to our annual trip to Rosings Park, but with you there it was different. At first, I was content just knowing you were close. As time passed, though, I found myself drawn to your side more and more often.

“I had already put off our departure from Kent in order to spend more time with you. I was debating whether or not to extend the visit again, but Fitzwilliam expressed his desire to spend at least some of his leave with Georgiana. I could not, in good conscience, keep him in Kent, but the idea of leaving you was torment.

“I realized that none of my objections to our match could keep me from loving you. I needed you by my side. I needed you as my wife.”

This speech had thrown Elizabeth into turmoil. There was no doubt that Mr. Darcy believed himself in love with her, but how long would that love last if he considered her a “poor country miss from a vulgar family with no connections?” Would he come to respect her, or would their marriage devolve into something resembling her own parents?

Elizabeth was saved from responding to the insulting, yet tender, speech by the arrival of her family. It seemed that every attempt she made to better understand her current situation only caused her more vexation.

As Elizabeth’s family gathered in the room, Darcy pulled further away from her.

“Mr. Darcy, whatever have you done to your cravat?” Mrs. Bennet asked as soon as she looked at him.

Embarrassed, Elizabeth lifted the handkerchief to try and wipe away the evidence of her tears. Again, Darcy caught her hand.

“It is nothing of consequence. I merely spilled some tea.”

Not noticing the complete absence of so much as a teacup in the room, Mrs. Bennet began giving Mr. Darcy advice on the best way to remove tea stains from clothing. After only a few minutes, Darcy excused himself, explaining that he should return to Netherfield Park.

Darcy hoped that Elizabeth would see him out, though he did not ask her to do so. When it was clear she had no intention of following him to the door, he gently raised her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. Elizabeth was left wondering whether or not Darcy had decided to leave in order to take care of his cravat, or if he was just desperate to remove himself from her family.

“Elizabeth, next time you must be sure to walk him out,” her mother admonished her. “How else will he be able to steal a kiss?”

Right at that moment, Elizabeth could not find it in her heart to blame him.

Chapter 7

Elizabeth Bennet sat with her sisters, mindlessly tying sprigs of rosemary with black silk ribbons. It had been an hour since her father had been removed from the house for his funeral. She had not expected to see Mr. Darcy until after the funeral, so did not at first understand why he had arrived at Longbourn that morning. Her eyes became just a little teary when he told her he was there to stand vigil for her father on the way to the church.

As opposed to the previous few days, even Mrs. Bennet radiated a sense of despondency. Her fingers went numbly through the motions as she tied sprig after sprig of rosemary. Even though they had already tied enough sprigs to give one to everyone that would attend the wake after the funeral, they continued on, needing some sort of occupation to absorb their minds.

Fitzwilliam Darcy stood stoically by the side of Mr. Bennet’s coffin. He pondered what type of relationship they would have developed after his marriage to Elizabeth, if Mr. Bennet were still alive. Just as he had not yet given any thought as to whether or not his suit would be refused, he did not even consider the fact that Mr. Bennet may have denied his application for Elizabeth’s hand.

As he silently watched the mourners enter the church, he was taken aback to see George Wickham enter with a group of soldiers. In the tumult following the news of Mr. Bennet’s death, he had given no thought to the fact that Mr. Wickham might still be in the neighborhood.

It was easy to discern when Mr. Wickham noticed Mr. Darcy, as all color drained from his face. He stood rooted to the spot for a moment, until an inquiry from one of his companions roused him from his stupor. As deftly as he could manage, he encouraged his friends to sit in a pew as far away from Mr. Darcy as possible. As many of the officers were only in attendance due to the fact that they were promised an afternoon of leisure if they spent their morning attending the funeral, they were easily led to the back corner of the church.

As the rector prepared for the funeral to begin, Darcy took his place next to Mr. Gardiner on the front pew. He was startled when a few of the men surrounding him nodded their heads or patted his back in welcome. He had not taken the time to befriend any of the local gentlemen, so he had not expected to be received in such a way. He could not have known that all of the women who had paid condolence calls to the Bennet family on Saturday returned home with glowing support for the quiet gentleman from Derbyshire.

When the funeral drew to a close, and the local gentlemen gathered around the coffin to act as pallbearers, it quickly became clear that Darcy anticipated he would stand with them. The gentlemen quickly made way, allowing him to take part. This one quiet act endeared him to the men of the area in ways that no charm or affability ever could.

It would be safe to assume that the vast majority of those present at the funeral of Mr. Thomas Bennet were aware of the engagement between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. The news had been canvassed in many homes after condolence calls were made on Saturday, then again while mingling after church services on Sunday. It had become such common knowledge, that no one even felt the need to whisper when discussing it.

Although these avenues of knowledge served the people of Meryton and its surrounding areas well, they did not work as well for any of those in the militia without wives, nor a desire to attend church. As such, Mr. Wickham was completely ignorant of the engagement. If he had been more observant during the funeral procession to the graveyard, or on the way to Longbourn for the wake, it would have been easy to overhear the news. Instead, Mr. Wickham was much more concerned with staying as far away from Darcy as possible. His friends had overheard a comment or two, but they did not find it interesting enough to share. Miss Elizabeth had been out of the area for over a month, so was just a slight acquaintance. They were more concerned with the absence of the rest of the Bennet sisters from future social engagements. Their mourning would keep them out of most company until after the militia had moved on from Meryton.

When the gentlemen arrived at Longbourn after the funeral, Elizabeth was only mildly surprised that Mr. Darcy would decide to stand beside her in the receiving line for the wake. She had grown accustomed to his quiet strength, so she was startled when his stance became rigid. Looking around to discover the source of his discomfort, she found a very pale Mr. Wickham.