The Reverend Mr. Ingram surveyed the crowd waiting in the church. It was a good thing he was not one to be intimidated by a numerous attendance, since, as it was expected, Miss Bennet’s and Mr. Bingley’s wedding was a crush! Before going down the aisle, he had welcomed every guest at the entrance, and what a long line they made! Now standing by the altar, he smiled at Mrs. Bennet who was on her feet in the front pew of the left side of the aisle. She smiled back a smile wider than her face, her nose crumpled and her eyebrow raised; had he been near her, he was sure he would have heard a shrieking sigh of ecstasy. He internally shrugged at the thought and switched to the front pew of the right wing to see that the groom’s sister and their brother in law were already installed. Mr. Hurst seemed somewhat more alert than usual – but the minister wryly thought that he probably wouldn’t manage to keep the gentleman awake anymore than for the previous services – and Miss Bingley seemed as despondent as ever, as shown by her dark brown severe outfit. He smiled to Mrs. Hurst who was coming from the vestry where the groom and his best man were waiting. His welcome to the lady was sincere; she had changed surprisingly since their first visit to Hertfordshire, the improvement of the goodness of her mind showing in her appearance, and he felt she was truly glad of the union. She nodded her opinion that her brother and his friend were ready and only awaited his call to come and take their place by the altar. Miss Catherine’s taking place in the left front pew told him that the bride, her sister and her father were also all set; the ceremony could begin. He was about to go and fetch them when he was stopped by Mrs. Bennet’s loud voice.

"Why, why, why! My dear Lady Lucas," she was saying to the lady behind her, her high-pitched tone overpowering every conversation around, "have you seen how many people are here? I do believe the attendance is bigger than for dear Charlotte’s wedding; not that it was not a very nice wedding, or that Reverend Ingram didn’t deliver a good sermon… And you should see my dear Jane! She’s the handsomest thing I have ever beheld, not that dear Charlotte was not very nicely dressed; but you should see Jane’s gown!" She sighed dreamily. "Although they didn’t put as much lace as I had wished, and there could have been more ribbon as well… There is never enough lace or ribbon in my opinion… But the fabric is the softest silk I have ever touched and Mrs. Banders worked admirably… I would rather have agreed to Mrs. Hurst’s proposal and ordered the gowns from Madame Danielle in London but, then, Jane insisted that Mrs. Banders had dressed her so many times that it was only fair to order her last dress as a maid from her! Anyway, I must say the result is quite pleasing and, were it not for the fact that it doesn’t come from London, it would be, indeed, the most beautiful gown that ever was made!"

Hiding his amazement with a neutral smile to the three younger Miss Bennets, he retreated to the vestry to tell the not-so-anxious groom and his not-so-soothing friend that it was time to come. They were still as he had left them; the smiling fair gentleman dressed in a strangely-wrinkle-free fine light blue coat and matching waistcoat pacing to and fro in the small room; while the tall and dark gentleman, whose leaf-green form-fitted coat emphasised further the brightness of his friend’s, stood motionless turned toward the stained glass window.

"Ha, here you are!" said Mr. Bingley eagerly, walking to him. "We were waiting for you. Everything is ready?"

"Yes, Sir. Would you please accompany me?"

"Of course, Reverend!" Looking at his friend, he asked, "Ready, Darcy?"

Darcy emerged from his wool-gathering and, after a bland moment, he started to chuckle, "I am really being the best best-man, am I not? See how well I’m dragging you to the altar? See how well I’ve dealt with your cold feet? Really, Bingley, I’m sure you’re happy with your choice!"

To Mr. Reverend Ingram’s astonishment, Bingley started to laugh back. Soon, both of them were clasping each other’s shoulders, in a fraternal – and mirthful – embrace. "I wish you the best of life with Miss Bennet, Charles," eventually gasped Darcy, his tone sincere despite the tear he was wiping away from his eye.

Bingley released his friend, and, drying the proof of his near-hysterical laughter, he thanked him in kind.

On the Minister’s reminder that they were awaited, the gentlemen proceeded to the Church and positioned themselves where they were expected. Bingley stood proudly at the altar; he checked immediately that there was still no commotion at the door and then allowed his eyes to wander to his family. Louisa was the first by the aisle, her already watery smile in exact tune with the supportive behaviour she had chosen in her town-house library, all those weeks back in London. He smiled back at her a warm and thankful smile; having some of his family agreeing with his choice meant much to him, she had stood by him without wavering despite Caroline’s attitude, and he would always feel grateful for this. Then came Hurst, who stood closer to his wife than he was supposed to – or, at least, than he used to – and Caroline, dressed in very much the same way she had, immediately following their father’s untimely death. He had forgiven her her mean interference in his – and Jane’s – life only because Jane had forgiven her. He sadly shook his head; why, oh why was she so set against this union? She had acknowledged, after their first encounter, that Jane was a sweet girl, she had even admired her. He hoped it was not on Darcy’s behalf; with him, she had never stood any chance. Miss Elizabeth becoming his sister in law wouldn’t damage her more in Darcy’s opinion than she had already done herself… His frown faded away when he perceived some kind of excitement at the door. Here she came…

Darcy, who had first checked that his beloved was still out of sight when he had stood on the right of the altar, abruptly stopped throwing caring yet nervous smiles at his sister when he heard the choir start singing the first hymn. He was about to behold the desire of his heart, for the first time since his fateful confession in her father’s library. The villagers’ voices vanished in his ears; his own heartbeat replacing them. He straightened his spine, preparing himself for the shock he knew was to come. And then she was on the doorstep. His lips parted to allow more air to fill his lungs, his breathing had become that shallow. He watched her as she came slowly down the aisle, her peach-silk clad figure, her smiling lips and her eyes… They had lost nothing of their brightness but they also revealed how happy and moved she was to be in Longbourn Church to celebrate her dearest sister’s nuptials. She had reached the middle of the aisle when her look settled on Bingley; her smile grew wider, and then her lips parted as her joy couldn’t remain in the confines of her mind. Bingley had probably smiled back to her, he couldn’t tell, his eyes had not even blinked since she had entered not to lose a second of this enchanting scene. And then her look slid to him.

Elizabeth had woken up with a nagging feeling that her dreams, although starring, as usual, Mr. Darcy, had been of a peculiar nature. Her first conscious thought had been that this was the day she had been waiting for a month. Then she had heard her mother’s cries about the maid, who was nowhere to be found when she was most needed, Jane’s hair, which was nowhere near dressed although it was almost time to depart, Mr. Bennet, who shouldn’t be hiding in the library on this particular day, Cook, for preparing such a heavy morning repast when everyone needed to be light and aware, … and she had sighed loudly and shut her ears with her hands. A quick peak at the daylight out of the window had confirmed that her mother had slightly exaggerated the hour, and, after bracing herself for the worst – more of her mother’s voice – she had unclamped her head and sighed in relief as only the usual sounds of the house had welcomed her. What had followed had been mainly focused on Jane; and when, following the first notes of the hymn, she had stepped into the church, she had realised that she had barely thought of him since her awakening. For the main part of her march, she had managed not to look at him; she knew he was here – she hadn’t seen him yet but without him the wedding would have been delayed – and she wanted not to awaken anyone’s suspicion. She had almost forgotten him when she had engaged eyes with Mr. Bingley and seen the eager and blissful light in them; but only almost. And now, she was standing no more than two feet from the altar, and she dared to look at him.

Their eyes met and locked. They were supposed to look at the bride who had entered the church and was walking towards her impatient and ecstatic future spouse; they were supposed to see the emotion in her father’s countenance; they were supposed to feel the radiance and hope of the bride; Elizabeth was supposed to hear her mother’s loud sniffles; Darcy was supposed to smile at Georgiana’s sigh of delight at watching such an angelic creature; but they did not. They only looked at each other; they only saw the other’s burning eyes staring back into theirs; they only felt the other’s emotions – joy, incredulity, happiness, eagerness… love? – mirroring their owns; they only heard their own heart and the endearments it was murmuring to the other. The high-pitched voices’ sudden stop threw them back into the real world. They smiled shyly and tenderly at the other while the Minister started.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony…"

As the words of the Reverend Mr. Ingram echoed in the church, Jane looked up at Charles and smiled a glowing and private smile to him. No tear had escaped her eyes on her way to the altar, but only by sheer luck. Her father’s mute kiss on her brow once Lizzy had gone beyond the doorstep, the resonance of the alto counter-point supporting the soprano song, the sight of her handsome future husband and his adoring eyes, everything had concurred to make her eyes watery. She saw in his look his amazement at seeing his dearest wish fulfilled and his overpowering love for her; these were feelings she shared, and she knew he read them in hers as well.

As the words flowed, their gazes parted regretfully. There were pledges in every sentence the Minister spoke, and they’d have wished to make those vows to each other, soul to soul. Why they were expected to be more respectful of their word because their eyes were on God’s representative, they knew not; yet they were, therefore, so they did. But while their faces remained smilingly turned towards the Reverend, their hearts were swelling as one with the mention of children, mutual society and comfort.

"Charles Isaac Bingley, Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife…"

Charles let the words of the Reverend’s question sink into his heart. He had already pledged himself to this woman so many times that he hadn’t thought hearing them in this formal and holy setting would move him exceedingly; yet, on hearing those words, he felt all the solemnity of his vows fall on him. Aye, he would love her; aye, he would keep her in sickness; aye, he would keep himself only unto her… "I will," he declared earnestly to the Minister, his words loud and clear enough to convince every member of the audience that he, the impetuous and sometimes whimsical Charles Isaac Bingley, would never falter from them.

"Jane Susanna Bennet, Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband…"

Jane’s still somewhat erratic heartbeat had suddenly quietened when Charles had so unambiguously proclaimed his ‘I will’. Hers would be a life of obedience, of service, of love for this man who meant more than life itself to her. This was what she had wanted for so long, she had forgotten how it was not to want it. Her smile had become one of understanding when she replied to the Reverend, "I will."

After Mr. Bennet had stepped from the front pew at the Minister’s request, Charles gave his troth to Jane with the conviction of his earlier words in his voice, and Jane gave her troth to Charles, her eyes deep into his, her right hand in his, her soul speaking to his.

As they knelt, the fourth finger of her left hand at last adorned with the symbol of their union, Jane repeated the prayer she had addressed God with the evening before, and she received His blessing.

"I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Charles heard not Louisa’s sniffy sigh, Jane heard not Mrs. Bennet’s shriek of ecstasy. Hand in hand, kept together by the Minister’s hands as well as by their forceful unwillingness to be parted, they revelled in the almost physical feeling of love surrounding them. His wife, forever; her husband, eternally.

Mr. Darcy hadn’t been able to pay real attention to the union of his friend to his soul mate. He had been too caught in his observation of Elizabeth. Her happiness at witnessing her dearest sister’s only wish come true was so endearing to him that he lived the ceremony through the changes of the light shining in her eyes. From time to time, she had looked at him, and he had not shielded his love for her. She had blushed and smiled back to him, her eyes as unguarded as his, but she had always focused back quickly onto the ongoing ritual. Yet it had been enough to convince him that her feelings had, indeed, changed for the best since their last meeting.

"Miss Bennet, May I have the honour of escorting you down the aisle?" he said, bowing to her. Only Mr. Bingley and Jane were still in the upper part of the church with them; the last members of the audience were exiting, to join the throng of well-wishers waiting outside the building.

What had happened during the ceremony had been enough to give her the confidence that she had been absolutely right in her reading of his letters; and she was, for a short while, spared the worry of too many eyes on them. Her spirits, already high with the bliss of her sister’s wedding, rose even higher. "Why, Mr. Darcy, I believe it is above all your duty!" Elizabeth replied playfully, placing her hand in the crook of his arm.

Mr. Darcy lost his breath on hearing her tone and feeling her hand tighten her hold. There was no mistaking it; the bewitching Elizabeth he had reluctantly come to love in the autumn was back. "Never was a duty more pleasurable, I assure you," he answered, as they walked together towards the door.

Elizabeth blushed, surprised – but not disagreeably so – by his forwardness. "Sir, I believe you are flattering me."

"You know me better than that, Madam, I do not flatter, never. I merely stated the absolute truth; as it is the absolute truth that it is most delightful to see you." He stopped abruptly his speech, since they had reached the door of the church, and the potentially prying eyes both feared were intent upon them.

But this unusually free Darcy was impossible to resist – not that she wanted to, anyway – and she couldn’t help but reply, for his ears only, "I’ve missed you exceedingly as well."

Then the cheering of the crowd became a barrier to any sort of conversation. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing on the threshold, their happiness almost blinding by its blatancy, and neither Elizabeth nor Mr. Darcy would have forgiven themselves if they had not been the first ones to congratulate the newlyweds.

Jane smiled softly, her head half inclined, at her Aunt Philips’ last remark. Charles was by her side, his grin as wide as his face while Mr. Philips was nodding vigorously.

"Don’t you think so, Lizzy?" he asked her.

"Forgive me, Uncle; I didn’t hear you," she said, quite ingenuously in her opinion.

"Why, I wasn’t saying anything, Lizzy!" he explained, surprised by her inattention. "Your Aunt was stating how delightful it is to be settled so close to one’s aunt when one is just married, not I!"

Jane’s giggle and Charles’ outright laugh made her blush bright crimson. Not only had they just caught her completely mindless of her surroundings, but also her sister and new brother knew why. Mr. Darcy was discreetly and slowly making his way towards their little group; and watching his careful but determined approach was quite enough to distract her usually attentive self. Families, greetings and duties had pulled them apart before their leaving for Netherfield, and their only short conversation since then had been abruptly cut by her mother. Mr. Darcy, although watching her from afar – an old habit of his – had been standing with his sister when Louisa had joined them; Elizabeth had come to their small company, and the discussion had taken a more than promising turn.

"I hope you eventually managed to solve the matter that kept you so far away in Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy."

"Well, some may have described it grander than it really is, but indeed, having the pride of calling Pemberley one’s home comes with some duties. Yet, I have high hopes that soon I won’t have to bear with them alone."

Elizabeth remembered his brown eyes firmly settled in hers, removing any trace of doubt that could remain about whom would share them with him; she remembered the hopeful and unbelieving gasp that had escaped Miss Darcy’s lips and the further turmoil it had created in her already fretful heart. His next words had made her lose her breath.

"And I must say the letters I received from Bingley were a great comfort to me. I read them with utmost pleasure. It was very good of you to help him compose them and I'm more than grateful for the messages you sent. I only hope I made this clear in my replies."

She knew she hadn’t dreamt the uncertain light in his eyes as he was saying those words, she hoped her smile hadn’t been as weak as her legs had felt and that he had found all the reassurances he still needed about her. She had wanted to reply in kind, but her voice had failed her, and she had barely managed a hoarse "Mr. Darcy" when her mother had sailed across the room and told her that Lady Lucas had news from Charlotte she would not reveal without her. Immediately she was to follow her mother, and later she was to feel the warmth of Mr. Darcy’s words. At last, Elizabeth had purposely come to speak with the newlyweds, hoping that he would read her and come to join them. Now that her scheme was about to succeed, she so anticipated his arrival that Aunt Philips’ conversation was incapable of holding her interest.

"Well, My aunt, I will take you on your word and ask for your partridge with apricot recipe," Jane said, her tone obviously closing the conversation, her smile making up for this slight incivility.

Mr. and Mrs. Philips picked up on their cue and willingly left the threesome, which soon numbered four as the tall, dark and much awaited gentleman joined them.

"Well Darcy, we’re glad to have you with us," said Mr. Bingley. "Are we not, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked playfully.

Jane’s amused, "Charles!" was cut by her sister’s flippant tone. "It’s Miss Bennet, actually, Mr. Bingley. Now, if you consent to my calling you Charles, I may consider having you calling me Lizzy."

"Well, then, Lizzy, aren’t we glad Darcy is with us?" Charles insisted, playfulness obvious in his voice.

"Bingley!" interrupted his friend. Being the object of his teasing, he was growing used to; having his lady being teased as well was entirely another matter.

"Oh no Mr. Darcy, I’d like to answer, if you don’t mind," she smiled to him. "I am very glad you are with us to celebrate the wedding of my most beloved sister with the choice of her heart. Since she’s the wisest, I suppose he’s someone good enough for her," she teased back, mirth twinkling in her eyes. "And Charles proved his superior understanding; first he chose Jane for his wife, then he chose you to stand for him today. I could not imagine standing with anyone else at the altar," she continued, amazed by her own brazenness as the words were coming from her mouth, Jane’s widened eyes and Charles’s choking on his wine proving that her astonishment was shared.

Only Mr. Darcy heard her words with apparent calm, his emotion only showing in the hoarseness of his voice. "The feeling is mutual, Miss Bennet," he replied, his eyes deep into hers.

"Charles," Jane said, trying to alleviate some of the passion that was going between the two, "Was there not a request you had for Mr. Darcy?"

Mr. Bingley looked confused, "A request?" he asked, while the other couple hadn’t yet come down to Earth.

"Yes Charles," Jane hesitated, she had forgotten to tell him of her idea to provide privacy to her sister and her beau. She licked her lips, "The last time we went on checking on your seedlings…"

This last part caught the unacknowledged lovers’ attention, although their reactions were drastically different. While Elizabeth rejoiced on Jane’s hint and prayed that Charles would comprehend, Mr. Darcy wondered about the kind of courting methods Bingley had chosen.

Lizzy’s prayers were granted. "Yes!" Mr. Bingley exclaimed to his wife, admiration for her obvious in his eyes. "Darcy, I do have a favour to ask," he asked earnestly to his friend, "I fear I won’t have time enough to check on my potato seedlings today, and I’d like to be sure there’s nothing amiss. Would you do that for me?"

"Well, of course, Bingley, if you wish so!" a dumbfounded Darcy replied.

"No, I meant, right this moment!" insisted the younger gentleman.

"Now?"

"Why, yes, now would be a good moment," interfered Jane.

"If it’s your pleasure, Mrs. Bingley", he agreed, clearly at a loss to understand what was happening, yet unwilling to offend the bride on her wedding day. Turning to his friend, he went on. "Is there someone who could direct me?" he asked, hoping that he would soon wake up from the insane dream he was now living.

"I might accompany you, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth stepped in.

"You might accompany me, Miss Bennet?" he asked, absolute disbelief in his voice.

"Yes, Lizzy knows the way," assured Jane to her husband’s surprise, "and I’m sure you’d like to escape this stuffy air, wouldn’t you, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth nodded her eagerness.

"It would be my very best pleasure, Miss Bennet," agreed Mr. Darcy, bowing to her then following her lead as she made her way to the hall of the mansion.

Mr. Darcy had followed Elizabeth’s unerring step while they had been outside; in the small and servant-like entryway, she had looked less certain, but she had found a lamp easily enough, which he had lit and held; he had realised during their descent in the dark staircase that she was not as knowledgeable of her whereabouts as she had claimed to be in the dining-room; and now, he was behind her, she was standing in front of an old wooden door, with no apparent intent of opening it, her breathing hard and laboured. The first word still had to be said, and, while she looked unable to say it, he wondered if he was not, unfortunately, about to wake up from this – at times idiotic but overall more than heavenly – dream. He was not even concerned with what was about to occur, or so it appeared. Indeed, although the hope that he might be finally able to have the private interview their situation required had erupted when she had proposed herself as his guide, the conversation with Bingley and Mrs. Bingley had been so bizarre that it had let him too baffled to fear anything. He asked her if it was, indeed, the potato cellar that was hidden behind this door, his tone showing the remnants of his surprise.

Elizabeth’s attention snapped back. "It must be," she replied breathlessly. They were where she had not been able to imagine them in truth. Contrary to her expectations, Mr. Darcy had agreed to check on the potato seedlings; she had followed Jane’s directions and taken him to the most remote corner of Netherfield; they were about to taste the magic of this dimly lit, humid, low-ceilinged and extraordinary room. Adding to her – sudden, unexpected and silly – apprehension of the outcomes of this interview, her ignorance of what could happen on a more physical level had overcome her confidence and rendered her speechless and motionless.

Mr. Darcy mistook the cause of her behaviour and chose to deal with what he thought was a childish fear of cellars with tender teasing. "Miss Bennet, I’d be honoured to be your knight in shining armour and slay the dragon that is hiding behind this door, if you let me."

Elizabeth’s look slowly turned to his face, love for this understanding and mindful gentleman wiping away all the gibberish that had been going through her mind. An amused smile flourished on her lips, "And I’d be honoured to be your damsel in distress, were I, indeed, in need of such a brave and reckless champion. I…" She tried to put the causes of her previous behaviour into words and immediately discarded the thought. She shook her head and opened the door, "Shall we?"

Elizabeth went first to peak a look in one of the boxes against the wall, she heard Mr. Darcy set the lamp somewhere and his steps come close to her.

"Those are indeed potato seedlings," he said bluntly, somewhere behind her.

She turned around; he was standing less than a foot away, his figure casting a shadow over her. Far from frightening her, his tall figure was even more enticing. "You’re a bit dark for a knight in shining armour," she teased.

"I just put it away… We knights don’t do our farmer duties fully apparelled."

She giggled. "Is this quick look to strange-looking potatoes ‘checking on the potato seedlings’?" She saw him nodding. "We do have a dilemma, then," she continued, her voice playful yet more throaty, her arms crossed in front of her.

"Do we now?" Hearing the sound of this ‘we’ in her voice caused some urgency to enter his own voice. He took the step that brought them toe-to-toe and taking her apparent hand, he disentangled her arms to take hold of her other hand. He brought one hand then the other to his lips.

She gulped and looked up at him. "Oh we do! Every time Jane and Charles came here to check on the potato seedlings, it took them much more time and they came out of it not quite as neatly attired as they had left us. We have to find a way to make them believe we paid as much attention to the plants as they did," she ended coyly, the scarlet hue of her cheeks fortunately barely discernible.

"Indeed, we do," he almost groaned, his lips plunging towards hers, "and I think I know how," he breathed against her mouth. He had not planned on snatching a kiss before she had consented to marry him; to be true, he had not planned any kiss at all, even if he had hoped, dreamed that this miraculous moment would come. Yet this seemed so right, her consent had been so obvious since he had seen her again in the church, that he took the opportunity and swore to himself he would propose as soon as their lips had parted. But his undying love and respect for her was in the reverence with which he released her hands, cupped her face, and, at last, unleashed all the passion he felt for her. All his self-control vanished when his lips touched hers. There was no gentleness, no hesitation in his mouth; he devoured her upper lip, sucked in her lower one, his hands holding her always closer to him, his body stiffening against her, revelling in her unmistaken response.

As soon as he had freed her hands, they had discovered their ideal place, behind his neck, and her fingers had begun their blind examination of his skull and his hair. But as agreeable as this may be, it compared not to the waves of pleasure created by his mouth on hers. Ignorant of what was expected of her, she followed his lead, letting him greedily enjoy her lips and enjoying his in kind. She shivered when she felt his tongue find its way between her lips but didn’t push him away. She gave him the leave to discover her mouth, at first finding the sensation somewhat odd, then feeling some unusual stirrings inside – reminding her of what Jane had described; then, when he sought out her tongue and she started to play with him, she lost all rational thought as warmth spread in her whole body.

She strengthened her hold on his neck and instinctively his arms encircled her body, one hand resting on her waist, while the other cupped her nape. Some of his sense came back with his movement; he held her in his arms, at last, after all those weeks, when he had long ago decided she could not suit. He held her in his arms and she fitted perfectly, like no one else ever had, like no one else ever would. The memory of their first embrace in the Umberights’ winter garden came back forcefully. Although she had then been barely conscious, it had made him understand his heart; now that she was participating beyond his most foolish hopes, he felt his heart explode, and a strangled cry came from his throat. He had to tell her he loved her, he had to tell her his life meant nothing without her. He released her mouth but she moaned and pulled him back to her. His body stiffened further and he knew he could not get enough of her. But he, a man of few words, could not remain silent in this occasion; some of the most important words of his life had to be said and he could not keep them inside any longer. He cupped her face once again, and, slowly and tenderly, he broke their kiss. Her hands slid slowly down his back to encircle his waist.

"Elizabeth, " he half panted, half whispered, " Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth, I love you and I want you to be my wife." For a moment he was back in the greenhouse; everything, from their position to the scarce light reminded him of it. He replayed in truth what he had replayed in dream so many nights. He tenderly brushed his lips on her forehead; then he let them err along her nose and they ended, like they had ended five weeks and four days earlier, placing a more lingering kiss on her lips. "Marry me, Elizabeth. Please."

She opened her eyes, pure bliss obvious in the way she looked back at him. "I will, Sir. Nothing can make me happier than having you for my husband," she replied, her breathing still slightly erratic, her endearing smile on her swollen lips. "I love you." She tiptoed to shorten the distance between their mouths and he closed it, once again rediscovering the taste of her.

Now that their hearts had spoken, now that promises had been exchanged, the apologies, explanations, and forgiving that remained to be given could wait. He eagerly sought the same level of response she had given moments before, and he was gratified with the quick rising of her passion. His lips were as nibbled as hers were and the feeling of her hand sneaking between them and starting to play with his neckcloth very quickly and efficiently dissipated any remaining control he had. But he suddenly felt deprived as the so promising hand was now pushing him away – even if his clouded mind still detected that her other hand was all but releasing the grip she had on his waist.

"Sir," she managed to breathe before her mouth was taken again. "Please Mr. Darcy," she tried again while his lips started to wander on the side of her face. She took his mumble for an agreement, and, gathering her scrambled thoughts, she continued, "Please, let me tell you how ashamed I am for having distrusted you." Now, she had his attention; his mouth had stopped its lovemaking and he was looking earnestly at her. She hushed his reply with her index finger he immediately kissed. "I’ve been stupid enough to believe Mr. Wickham over you, and, I’ll never have words enough to express the regret I feel for all the unhappiness I may have caused you. When I realised how wrong I had been, I could not wait to express my apologies, as awkward as this would be; and your leaving so suddenly distressed me greatly."

"Were I able to choose, I’d rather your distress came from your missing me…" he said, tender teasing obvious in his tone and in his smile.

"I wouldn’t allow myself to miss you when I didn’t deserve you."

"O, My Love, I was the one who didn’t deserve the other." His hand traced the line of her jaw, "I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled."

Elizabeth coloured, shame for her words in the Umberights’ winter garden tightening her throat. "I abused you so abominably; will you ever forgive me?"

Mr. Darcy’s surprise at hearing such a request only matched his own sense of unworthiness. "What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence."

"Mr. Darcy, we ought not to quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening," Elizabeth said, moved by the truthfulness in his voice. "The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility." The irony of their situation was slowly making its way in Elizabeth’s mind.

An almost unwilling smile came to his lips. "I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of my conduct, my manners, my expressions since we met at the assembly in Meryton, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me."

"You must learn some of my philosophy," she replied, playfulness back in her tone. "Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure. For instance, I will always look back fondly on the moments we spent here."

He raised his eyebrows, "’Fondly’? Shouldn’t it be rather ‘breathtakingly’? Or ‘heavenly’?" He lowered his head and caught her giggle on her lips. "I will always remember this cellar as one of the most magical places," he whispered before once again creating extraordinary feelings in her.

When their mouths parted to breathe, she coyly remarked on his knowing other magical places. At first, he tried to ignore her remark by delicately tracing the lines of her mouth with his tongue. He thought for a moment he had succeeded, since she eagerly welcomed his attentions. But when he left her lips to wander in her neck, she insisted.

"You would not tell me what can compare to Netherfield’s potato cellar?" she sighed more than uttered, her whole body shivering to the warmth of his breath bellow her ear.

He had never been able to feel guilt for the kisses he had stolen in the darkened winter-garden, but he was ashamed of his lack of remorse. Since, of course, he could not hide the truth to Elizabeth, replying made him somewhat ill-at-ease. He took hold of her face and replayed for the second time the dance of his mouth on her visage. Before she was able to protest, he asked her if this reminded her of something.

"Mr. Darcy, I don’t understand."

"This!" he said as he kissed her once again, first on her forehead, then on the tip of her nose, and last on her lips.

She frowned as his words started to make sense. Then her eyes opened wide as unbelieving understanding dawned on her. "Did you really do it?"

He noticed first her using the word ‘really’ as if it were something she had had thoughts about, without calling it ‘memory’; then he realised that her tone was not overly reproachful. Choosing carefully his words, he spent the next minutes in explaining how these stolen kisses had changed his life for the best and what role Bingley had played in this change.

That her new brother had played a crucial part in Mr. Darcy’s and her reunion, she already knew; that he was so deeply involved in it, she discovered with no real astonishment. Charles was indeed deserving of Jane, their characters being so equally selfless.

After some moments of blissful recollections of what had led them to this point in the conversation, he pursuing the activity she had rudely interrupted – discovering the softness of her throat –, they heard some whistling coming their way. They had barely had time to take care of his rumpled cravat and her untidy hair than a candle light appeared in the doorway. The young lad who was holding it flushed immediately on seeing them and painfully mumbled some apologies.

"Beg your pardon, M’am. Being the wedding and all that, methinks not anyone’d be there…" he said, nervously manhandling his cap.

The poor boy’s fright softened Elizabeth’s embarrassment. "Don’t worry…"

"Who are you, Lad?" asked Mr. Darcy in his Master of Pemberley’s voice.

"Y…Young Ben, S… Sir" he stuttered.

She threw her newly betrothed a mildly reproachful look. "Well, Young Ben, since Mr. Bingley already sent us to check on his potato seedlings, it was not worth your coming! But I’m sure he’ll be happy to know his seedlings will be under good care when he is away. You can go, now."

After an awkward bow, the boy disappeared in the corridor. Mr. Darcy took on a frightened air and begged her not to scold him too mercilessly. She replied that he would have to earn her forgiveness, to which order he willingly, efficiently and successfully complied. But both knew that they had to go back to the crowded dining-room, and they still had some details to take care of. It was decided that he would come and ask for her father’s consent this very afternoon, that she would announce the news to her mother in privacy, that he would remain at the inn in Meryton for a few days until their wedding date was settled (in no more than a month time, in any case, but after Jane’s and Mr. Bingley’s return) and that they were the happiest couple in the world.

"Well, Sir, shall I tell Jane that she was right and that Netherfield’s potato cellar is magic."

He chuckled, "I believe you can, she will have strong suspicions in any case. But Elizabeth," he said, stopping her just before they were about to leave the small entryway and go outside, "why are you being so formal with me? I wish you would not call me ‘Mr. Darcy’ or ‘Sir’."

She smiled and swiftly tiptoed to place a peck his lips. "I’ve never heard anyone call you ‘Fitzwilliam’, but I shall if you wish. Or I could use ‘My Love’ if you consent to share the name with me."

The feeling of sheer ecstasy he felt on hearing her words made him throw all cautiousness to the wind and he kissed her hard, in view of anybody who’d care to look. After an undefined period of time, both regained enough sense of propriety to stop, and, eventually, to rejoin the wedding breakfast.

Later that night, Jane was lying on her new bed, with her new husband. "Oh Charles," she panted, "I never imagined that this could be so beautiful."

"My Love, I knew it not either," he replied, kissing her brow, trying to catch his breath as well. "You made it beautiful. I hope I caused you not too much pain."

She blushed and smiled. "We made it beautiful, and you made it possible with the never-ending patience you showed in the potato cellar. I’m sure it was very difficult for you to repress your instincts and I love you even more for it."

"I told you once that for our becoming man and wife, you deserved the softest sheets and the warmest fire, the most comfortable bed and the handsomest room, did I not? Well, I just held to this thought and took care to never be alone with you in a room that contained these elements."

She giggled, "Well, Mr. Bingley, since they are still there and we’re still alone, may I fear some renewed attentions from you?"

"I’ve suspected for some weeks that you wouldn’t be a very biddable wife, Mrs. Bingley, I see I’m sadly proven right!" he said in a mockingly disappointed tone while his whole body told her how delighted he was with her.

Sow Potatoes, See What you Shall Reap, Epilogue