Chapter Text
Elizabeth Bennet would be mortified to be considered a coquette. But she would readily concede that her actions on this day warranted such an epithet. Yet, she maintained that her behaviour was nothing short of the natural consequence of being forced to endure such a duration of doubt and despair. Despite what had passed between herself and Mr Darcy the previous day, Elizabeth still struggled to believe that such a conversation had finally occurred; the ecstasy of reaching such an understanding had scarcely worn off. This state of heightened emotion, she would tell herself that evening, as she ruminated on the events of the day, provided an explanation for her behaviour.
Thanks to some brilliance of mind on the part of Mr Bingley, the party that embarked upon the nice long walk to Oakham Mount was composed only of a pair of happy couples, as Kitty remained at Longbourn. The initial respectful distance that the sisters and the friends whom they shortly would respectively wed kept from each other was shortly renounced, in favour of a gulf far more befitting their relative vigour. Though Bingley was by no means physically deficient, his prospective bride was of a far less athletic inclination than her sister.
Despite their pace, the walk was sufficiently long as to provide Elizabeth and Mr Darcy with the opportunity to establish that Darcy should seek Mr Bennet’s consent in the course of the evening, while Elizabeth would–though it was a prospect she scarcely relished–apply to her mother.
Mr Darcy was accustomed to brisk walks around the park of his significant home. But even he was astonished at the pace Elizabeth kept. He anticipated that Oakham Mount would be particularly picturesque, such was Elizabeth’s apparent eagerness to arrive there. Although they had long since lost sight of Mr Bingley and Jane, Elizabeth’s pace did not waiver.
When they finally gained the summit of Oakham Mount, however, Darcy quickly began to suspect that Elizabeth had an ulterior motive. To be sure, the view was pleasant enough; the Hertfordshire landscape provided a picturesque autumnal view, replete with warm copper and bright golden hues. But it was nothing extraordinary, and when Mr Darcy turned to look at the woman who had shepherded him to the sumit with alacrity, he saw that she was not entirely focused upon the view before them.
Rather, the sole object of Elizabeth’s gaze was Mr Darcy himself.
Blushing was not the tall gentleman’s wont, yet the evident admiration (as well as an emotion that Darcy deemed dangerously close to desire) was enough to cause his cheeks to burn. His pride may have diminished, yet he still hoped that such a reddening of his cheeks would be construed by Elizabeth as a reaction to the cool breeze and the exertion of reaching the summit. It was disarming, this capability she had to affect his behaviour thus.
Yet, Elizabeth had a discerning eye. She did not fail to notice the change in his countenance, and the way her hunger for his touch was evidently reciprocated. Boldly, Elizabeth stepped towards Mr Darcy, and laced her fingers between his. Even though the fabric of their respective gloves separated prevented their flesh from touching, the jolt which was felt by both was unmistakable. It was not long until they were mutually desirous of more; thus, shortly arms wrapped around waists, before hands tentatively reached up to be steadied upon shoulders; eventually, mere inches now separated their faces.
Thanks to the closeness of their embrace and the way that Elizabeth’s gaze frequently focused upon his lips, it soon became obvious to Mr Darcy that she had contrived this situation so as to provide him with the perfect opportunity to steal a kiss from her lips.
In a tone of voice not befitting a lady, Elizabeth begged, ‘Mr Darcy, please do not trifle with me. Hurry, before they catch us up.’
Mr Darcy was in no great rush. In truth, he was much too enamoured by Elizabeth’s behaviour. The air of desperation about her, he thought, became her rather well; it reminded him that he was not alone in how ardently he desired her attention, and though he was no longer ate up by pride, he could not deny that it was gratifying to observe the depths of the want evident in her fine dark eyes.
‘Just do it,’ implored Elizabeth, as her hot breath washed over Darcy’s lips.
With such an entreaty from such a woman, how could any man resist?
He knew that in finally pressing his lips to hers, that a part of him would be changed forever. To finally be afforded to take such a liberty with the woman he loved, who had humbled him and transformed him completely, was a dizzying prospect. He removed his hat, conscious that maneuvering around such an object may waste even more precious seconds of solitude than had already been squandered by his teasing, and took deep, steadying breaths to prepare himself for what was to follow.
Then, their lips met, and Darcy realised that even the fantasies that his tortured mind had produced at the height of his anguished struggles in vain against the depths of his feelings for Elizabeth could not compare to the reality of feeling her lips move against his.