Chapter Text
Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open. Soft light filtered through the curtains, bathing her bedchamber in pale neutrals. For a moment, she lay still, her heart pounding as the memories of the night raced through her mind: fog, gravestones, music, and a man collapsing at her feet.
She bolted upright as reality came upon her. She was in her room. Her bed. Relief flooded her, swiftly followed by urgency.
Her experience returned in a rush. The vision of the future and her love falling lifeless to the floor of a darkened house. No, she thought fiercely. Not if I can help it.
“Fitzwilliam!” she cried, springing from the bed.
She dragged on her pelisse over her nightgown and shoved her feet into her boots, entirely unconcerned with propriety. Nothing mattered but reaching him. Nothing mattered but knowing that he remembered as she did.
****
Darcy stood in his chamber, hands braced on the washstand, staring at his reflection in the cold mirror.
It could not have been a dream.
Dreams did not carve themselves into one’s soul with such merciless clarity. Dreams did not leave behind the echo of grief so sharp.
He could still see it…Elizabeth’s name carved in stone. He could still feel the hollow ache in his chest.
No. This was no dream.
With brisk determination, he pulled on his banyan and boots and left Netherfield at once, striding through the chill morning air to find her.
****
At the summit of Oakham Mount, two lost souls found one another again.
Elizabeth saw him the instant he stepped into the clearing. Her breath caught momentarily and then she was running.
“Fitzwilliam!”
“Elizabeth!”
She flung herself into his arms without hesitation. He laughed in startled joy, lifting her from the ground and spinning her once before pulling her close, holding her as though she was something precious and irreplaceable.
“You remember?” he asked softly, scarcely daring to hope as he cupped her cheek.
She nodded, her eyes shining. His thumb traced her skin, sending warmth through her entire body. “Everything,” she whispered. “I remember everything.”
Something dark and knowing flickered in his gaze. It was a look she now recognized as desire, not contempt, and then his mouth was on hers.
There was nothing hesitant in the kiss. It was deep and certain, as though both of them feared the moment might vanish if they did not seize it fully. Elizabeth felt weak and strong all at once as he drew her closer. She relished the solid reality of him beneath her hands, the warmth of his lips, the way his breath hitched when she sighed softly against his mouth.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer still, and he responded instantly, the kiss deepening until the world seemed to fall away.
She had never felt so complete or so at peace. At last, breathless and smiling, she broke the kiss. “How extraordinary,” she murmured, “to be so fundamentally changed in the course of a single evening.”
He smiled back, brushing another kiss across her lips. “Extraordinary indeed.”
She tilted her head, mischief dancing in her eyes. “We have much to discuss, Mr. Darcy. For instance, I know you once delighted in dancing at balls, despite telling me you preferred not to. And that you love Christmas time!”
His brows lifted in bemused understanding. “Then you traveled through my past, present, and future?”
She nodded ruefully. “I am not proud of all I witnessed. Particularly my own conduct. Especially where a certain gentleman we shall never speak of again is concerned.”
Darcy’s expression turned solemn. “The fault is mine, Elizabeth. Entirely mine. I could have warned everyone about him and I shall still do so. I will write to my cousin today, ensure Wickham is removed, and make certain his debts and conduct are known.” He took her hands, earnest and open. “I want you to know who I truly am.”
She squeezed his fingers gently. “And I hope, sir, that we shall have a lifetime to learn one another. I allowed my wounded pride to blind me to what we might have discovered together.”
He winced. “I was dreadful that day. Can you ever forgive me? I should never have spoken so about anyone, but certainly not about the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance. I am deeply sorry.”
Her cheeks flushed. “It wounded me so deeply because from the moment I first saw you, I was already yours.”
Darcy kissed her again, slow and reverent this time. When he pulled away, she felt the absence keenly and almost chased his lips further.
“Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “I wish to court you, with the intention of making you mine forever.”
“I want to marry you,” she replied at once.
His eyebrows shot upward before he laughed, delighted, and she laughed with him.
“Well,” he said warmly, “it seems we are in perfect agreement. There is much I must do in this neighborhood to atone for my past errors. Will you stand beside me, my love?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip, overwhelmed by happiness. Then the memory of the future she had seen rose unbidden, and she shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked immediately. “Come, we should return to your house.”
She tugged his hand instead and stepped into him, pressing her cheek against his chest. “You died,” she whispered, tears gathering as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Right before me. I could not stop it. And I felt my soul break.”
He drew her back gently, cupping her face, his gaze steady and fierce with devotion. “I will never leave you, Elizabeth. I have seen that future and I will not allow it. You will never bear another’s name. You will not lie cold beneath the earth until you are well past one hundred years.” His lips curved faintly. “And even then, I shall object.”
She laughed through her tears. “Oh, you object, sir? Then I object to you going first. One hundred and twenty, holding hands together. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” he said, sealing it with a kiss. Soft, silent snowflakes began falling and drifting around them, dusting the ground in white.
“Come, my love,” Darcy said thoughtfully. “I find myself possessed of a newfound appreciation for your mother. I believe I must call upon her immediately. Do you think she would prefer a Christmas ham or, perhaps, lace from London? I intend to win her favor entirely. I shall be her most beloved son-in-law. Bingley will not win this war.”
Elizabeth’s laughter rang clear and bright as they walked back toward her home, hand in hand beneath the falling snow.
****
From a distance, Anne and George Darcy stood together, watching their son and his beloved walk down the path.
Anne smiled, her eyes shining. “Our son is destined for a most extraordinary romance.”
George chuckled, drawing her closer. “I’m proud of him. He has excellent taste in women, just like his father.”
She kissed his cheek, laughing softly. “Yes. Just like his father.”
They lingered there a moment longer, until the young couple vanished from sight. Then, hand in hand, they too faded away, leaving only softly falling snow behind.
*****The End*****