Blurb: Darcy and Elizabeth don’t need Aunt Catherine’s interference to bring them together when they have Bingley, a smartphone, and a south Texas cafe. (P&P one-shot)
A/N: Here’s a little whipped cream to enjoy with your favorite sweet--inspired by that moment when I texted my neighbor a message intended for my husband. ::awkward:: Belated Happy New Year to all! (As a heads up, I’m going to request this story not be archived. It's also available as a download under a different title for subscribers at my website.)
And I’m happy to share “A Fine Stout Love and Other Stories” is now available to purchase, read, and review in print and Kindle from Amazon and in a variety of ebook formats from Smashwords and other retailers. My heartfelt gratitude to the DWG community for playing such a large role in helping me to realize this dream. I couldn’t have done it without you--Dwiggies are awesome! ~ Renée
…Mr. Collins came up to them, and told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery. “I have found out,” said he, “
by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of the house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady Catherine.
How wonderfully these sort of things occur!” ―PRIDE & PREJUDICE
A SINGULAR ACCIDENTTextident: texting the wrong person the right message, usually caused by texting two people at the same time. - Urban DictionaryBingley Chapman leaned against the rough stucco wall outside the front door of his Cordillera Ranch listing. When gold light tapped the toes of his boots, he glanced up from his smartphone. Sunset was about to bed down in the oak-crusted hills. The prospective buyers would conclude their private tour any moment.
A vigorous swipe sent his message history sailing off screen. He didn’t have time for this.
Approving murmurs drifted out the entry along with the air conditioning. Two minutes at the most and he would rope this deal, but first he had to cement the evening’s social plans. Jane was a go, which left Darcy.
Bingley scrolled his message list again and selected the first “Darcy F” he saw.
*****Darcy placed his index finger on the machine’s blueprints. Metal plate would enter here. Pure potential. He leaned closer to trace the route through the intricate design. Not too fast, though, lest he miss any anomalies. But there were none. His heartrate sped up as his finger increased pace. Success exhilarated like riding a roller coaster. Almost through—
A buzz vibrated the draftsman’s table and he jerked back. What in the— He blinked hard into encroaching darkness. Only a goose-necked blue light illuminated the board’s angled breadth.
The buzz vibrated again.
His mobile. Right. What time was it anyway? Darcy checked the screen: 7:30 pm. His staff would have slipped out at least two hours ago. They knew better than to interrupt when he was at the drawing board.
A single word glowed against the black background.
BC: Dinner?
Darcy rolled his shoulders, then wove his fingers behind his back and stretched. He released a deep sigh. Too many hours hunched over. Long past quitting time. And he could relax with Bingley. His thumbs tapped the glass.
DF: When and where?
BC: Still at work?
DF: Silly question.
BC: You make me look bad
DF: Tell me you’re not working—
BC: Tia Bonita at 8
Darcy’s mouth quirked. At least Tia’s offered a decent menu and passable coffee in addition to their renowned tequila bar. Bingley wasn’t so much selfish as he was blissfully unaware not everyone shared his incomprehensible passion for agave liquor. Now a fine scotch, on the other hand—
Darcy’s thumbs hovered over the screen. He’d prefer not to subject himself to the Riverwalk crowded with tourists on a Friday night, but then again he’d rather not drive out to Pemberley on an empty stomach. It wasn’t as if anyone were pining for him to come home for the weekend.
DF: See you there.
Grey dots blinked. Bingley must be typing a book.
BC: I asked J
Three cryptic words and not a book. J would be Jane Bennet. Asked her what—to marry him? Darcy chuckled. Bingley was never much for details, and only he would ask a friend along on a date. He should probably take pity on Jane and decline.
DF: For dinner?
BC: No, for a kiss (immature emoji)—see you there
Darcy shook his head and slipped the phone into his pocket, then crossed the office to turn on the overhead lights.
Of course Bingley invited Jane. Willowy, blonde Jane with her perpetual smile like sunflowers lining country byways. Darcy straightened the papers on his desk and loaded his satchel.
It was amazing Jane and Elizabeth were sisters. Elizabeth was… well, bluebonnet was more fitting but still cliché. More like sage. Aromatic. Unexpected. Sudden beauty after the rains, transforming the desert into a breathtaking purple sea. Something twined around his heart and squeezed.
Darcy shrugged into his suitcoat. How he missed Elizabeth’s laughter, the curve of her neck, those bright eyes that spoke to his soul. Enough. At least Bingley had a shot at happiness.
He stopped in the doorway and surveyed his re-ordered domain. Nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday. He flipped the switch, darkness momentarily shrouding the nameplate on his closing door: Darcy P. Fitzwilliam IV.
The lock clicked.
*****Elizabeth Bennet shut the front door against the evening heat. She glanced around the vintage Craftsman, a far cry from the rambling ranch where they were raised, and saw her sister’s purse on its usual perch. The neighborhood might be past its prime, but it was affordable and safe. And it was home.
“Jane?” She peered down the short hallway.
“In here.” Jane’s voice floated out the door opposite the only other bedroom.
Elizabeth dropped her gym bag on the floor, crossed the hall and flopped backward onto Jane’s bed, arms flung above her head. Her phone vibrated beneath her. Whoever it was could wait. She’d rather hear about tonight’s date with Bingley.
Clothes hangers scraped against the rod, followed by a whisper of fabric and Jane’s soft voice. “This one?”
Elizabeth arched her back and peered at her sister upside down. The phone vibrated three times in succession. “You’d make a grain sack look like a designer gown.”
“Be honest, Lizzy.”
Whoever was texting so insistently needed to stop. Elizabeth rolled onto her elbows, her warmups rustling against the floral bedspread. She studied the dress. “Nah. Screams teacher.”
“I am a teacher. And proud of it.”
“As you should be. But you want Bingley to stand up and say,” she affected her best drawl, “Hot tamale!”
“Lizzy!” Jane’s cheeks bloomed pink as full as the hydrangeas on their porch.
Elizabeth giggled. It was far too easy to make her sister blush. Her phone buzzed.
Jane turned to shuffle through her closet. “Have you decided if you’re coming?”
“Sure, why not.” Elizabeth could excuse herself after dinner to people-watch along the river, which would allow her sister and Bingley some privacy. “Let me just pull on my jeans.”
But first she needed to give that texter a piece of her mind. Who in the world was so impatient they couldn’t wait for an answer? Probably a gymnast’s mother thinking her zeal would impress the coach.
Elizabeth withdrew the phone from her pocket. Bingley Chapman? She skimmed the thread. Darcy Fitzwilliam? Surely this was an error. She read again with closer attention. Definitely an error, but still, just seeing Darcy’s name on her screen set her heart aflutter. “Jane?”
Jane turned around, stunning in a shell pink sheath. “Better?”
“Much.”
“You didn’t even look.”
“Did too.” Elizabeth held out the phone. “Bingley texted Darcy to join us for dinner.”
“He did?”
Elizabeth jiggled the phone and puckered her lips like a fish. “And he wants to kiss you.”
“Bingley?” Jane snatched the phone from her hand and scrolled through the messages. “I don’t think they meant for you to read this.”
“Probably not.” Elizabeth had scrolled far enough back to see Bingley picked up an old three-way conversation with her and Darcy about buying Jane a birthday gift. Classic textident if she ever saw one.
Jane returned the phone. “You should say something.”
“I don’t know. If Bingley isn’t planning to tell Darcy I’m coming, I’ll be the last to spoil the surprise.” Besides, this was her chance to wow the man who’d won her heart and didn’t even know it.
“Just don’t go all tongue-tied like you did last time you saw him.”
“That’s not fair. I was serving coffee.” Though it was true every thought in her head had dissipated like fog in the heat of Darcy’s presence. “I’ll do better tonight.”
“Then what are you doing still lounging in your gym clothes?” Jane leaned toward her dresser mirror, lipstick poised between thumb and forefinger.
Elizabeth scrambled off the bed. Jane was right. What was she thinking when Darcy—
Darcy!—was meeting them at Tia’s? And jeans would never do. Not tonight. “How long until we leave?”
“Five minutes—if you want to arrive early.”
Elizabeth pocketed her phone and rushed for the door. “I’ll be ready.”
*****Darcy strode down the hallway toward the elevators, recalling his shock over finding Elizabeth among Pemberley’s residents during those last weeks of summer. Not that his surprise was unwarranted. His sister might bake cookies to leave on guests’ pillows, but Darcy rarely knew which groups were coming and going.
Reynolds managed the guest ranch with such competence that Darcy was glad to leave it in her capable hands. To be honest, he gave his foreman and the working ranch an equally wide berth. The city office kept him more than busy, and Pemberley operated like a flawlessly designed machine.
However, that afternoon he’d spent several hot hours laboring beside Ramirez and was strolling back from the barn, ripe for a shower, when a figure on the archery range drew him up short. Elizabeth? His pulse bolted like a shying horse. He hadn’t seen her since April and the catastrophic exchange that pulverized his hopes into so much venison sausage. Was he imagining her?
Her form compelled his admiration—chin up, back straight, eyes focused, compound bow taut in sinewy arms—then she glanced over her shoulder as if she’d sensed his scrutiny. Her arrow flew past the stacked hay bales. Might as well have made a bullseye right through his heart.
The elevator dinged and Darcy stepped in for the descent to parking level.
He’d called off work and stayed the week, much to Georgiana’s amusement. He took advantage of every opportunity to be near Elizabeth, even when they were surrounded by tittering teenagers. They rode horses, shot clays, floated down the Guadalupe, ate copious barbeque—all progress in the right direction, he was certain.
If only she hadn’t been chaperoning a youth group. If only he’d tossed caution to the tumbleweeds and declared his heart. If only a family emergency hadn’t curtailed her visit. If only skink-brains hadn’t reared his ugly head. He grimaced at the bitter taste Wickham left on his tongue. If only. It might have been enough.
A buzz in his pocket evaporated his reflections. Darcy pulled out his phone.
BC: Well?
DF: Leaving now.
BC: About J?
DF: What about J?
BC: You mind?
DF: Third wheel and all, but I’m good.
BC: Fourth—J’s bringing E
Darcy sucked in a breath, and his stomach catapulted like a bull rider from the holding pen.
DF: E as in Elizabeth?
BC: None other
Elizabeth Bennet at dinner. Tonight. He might see her in the next twenty minutes. The bull intensified its twisting kicks to his gut. Forget that chile relleno his mouth was salivating for. What would he say?
Darcy closed his eyes. If only he could pull Elizabeth into his arms, bury his nose in her hair and murmur in her ear: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was stupid and proud. I can’t tell you how much I regret the things I said. I’ve wanted to tell you every time we were together, but the moment never seemed right, and my words—I’ve never been very good on my feet. Forgive me. Please. Give me another chance.”
She would look at him and say— Scratch that. She would stand on tiptoe and press her lips to his. Warmth coursed through him. She would—
No. He must close the box on his imagination. Words would never be enough. He’d have to show her he’d changed, that her words had changed him, that he was a different man, a better man now, even if she didn’t want to be part of his life.
A throat cleared.
Darcy opened his eyes.
Bushy eyebrows stood like question marks against the security guard’s creased forehead. “You all right, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
He nodded. The mobile was slick in his clenched palm.
“The elevator door opened and closed a couple times, and I didn’t want to interrupt, you looked so intent. But…”
“Just lost in thought.” Darcy gestured with the phone and moved past him into the parking garage. “Thanks.”
“Must have been a good one.” The guard chuckled. “Anytime.”
*****Elizabeth stared at her smartphone in the deepening dusk of Jane’s car, willing Darcy to respond, willing another text to appear—even if only to announce he’d cancelled. But the screen dimmed from inactivity.
Jane glanced toward the passenger seat. “You need to put that away, Lizzy. It’ll be so much easier to make things right if you can honestly say you didn’t read it.”
“You’re too good.” Elizabeth laughed. “I can’t help myself.”
“Sure you can.” Jane peeked over her shoulder to merge onto the southbound freeway.
“Ok, I could. But I have to know if Darcy’s coming or not.”
“He already said he was.”
Elizabeth waved the phone. “Listen to their last exchange—”
“I’d rather not hear it.”
“Darcy asked ‘E as in Elizabeth?’ and Bingley texted back ‘None other.’ And that’s it. What am I supposed to make of that?”
“Nothing. It wasn’t intended for you. Besides, you’ll find out soon enough.” Jane reached over to pat her knee. “Now put it away.”
“You sound like Mom.”
“I’m not going to argue”—Jane smiled but kept her eyes on the road—“because you know I’m right.”
Elizabeth tucked her phone back into her purse to appease her sister. Her longing for insight into Darcy’s mind far outweighed any conviction she shouldn’t read his texts.
She rested her hands in her lap and stared out the window. Shadows engulfed the city, but the last rays of sunset still glimmered high against the Tower of Americas and streamed like a spotlight into her memories.
What an evening. Bingley had booked the entire tower restaurant and observation deck for a gala, and somehow the Bennets were included, even though they’d only met him a couple months prior. Not somehow. That was all Jane’s doing.
The elevator soared 750 feet and deposited Elizabeth in a realm of white linen, crystal goblets and select wines. Though the building’s gradual rotation made a full circuit once each hour, she flitted from window to window, gazing out across San Antonio, and then stopped to trace the hill country where it faded into the northern horizon.
Gradual warmth intensified against her exposed back, and a low voice spoke near her ear. “Beautiful view.”
Elizabeth jumped and spun.
How long had Darcy been standing so close? Her gaze swept up the crisp pin-tucks and gleaming studs to the strong angles of a fresh-shaven jaw. He sported the tux with effortless nobility, not that she expected anything less. But fastidious Darcy in dusty jeans and a sweat-stained hat? Now, that would be a laughable sight.
She turned back to the view to hide her smile and shrugged. “Yes, but you must admit, even the south side looks clean and safe from here.”
His arm snaked past her shoulder as he pointed through the tinted glass. A hint of musk tickled her nose. “Pemberley is hidden in those hills. Too bad you can’t see it this far away.”
The superiority of the man—as if he needed to flaunt his renowned ranch!
A car horn jarred Elizabeth from her reverie. How utterly wrong she had been. Even then he’d simply wanted to share Pemberley with her. Probably best if she didn’t dwell on how at home or handsome he turned out to be in his Wranglers and boots. Or how generous he was in offering special rates to youth groups like the one her aunt and uncle led. But it was too late now.
Elizabeth sighed. Was Darcy coming tonight or not? The question nipped at her. If only Bingley hadn’t alerted him, then—then what? Lean near Darcy while Bingley and Jane were otherwise occupied and whisper, “I truly regret all the hurtful accusations I made. I’m sorry we haven’t seen much of each other lately. And I’m grateful beyond expression for everything you’ve done. I was wondering if maybe we could—”
That’s about where she stopped whenever she tried to envision it. Because she needed to be realistic. Hope may have bloomed at Pemberley, but it was transitory as a morning glory.
A man like Darcy Fitzwilliam, with his high-rise office and every advantage at his disposal, didn’t need to seek her out again. Not when he had the pick of San Antonio’s finest. Not after everything he knew about her sister and Wickham. And certainly not after she’d affronted and judged him. Even if pride weren’t his failing, renewing his interest would take more humility and courage than any man in his position would be willing to muster.
The last flicker of light faded from the sky along with Elizabeth’s hopes for the evening.
*****Darcy was mere blocks from the Riverwalk when Bingley texted again. Words flashed above the console on his dash, and a proprietary app read the message over the speakers.
BC: Still coming?
DF: En route.
BC: Try to get along with E
Darcy snorted.
“I didn’t get that,” the phone said.
Darcy didn’t get it either. Try to get along with Elizabeth. What planet did Bingley reside on anyway? Probably Venus, otherwise known as Jane Bennet.
He addressed the space above his steering wheel. “Text Bingley Chapman.”
“What would you like to say?” the synthesized voice prompted.
DF: I’ll do better than get along.
BC: I’m serious (emoji)
DF: So am I.
BC: You want to take her out?
DF: That’s a start.
BC: Make out? (really inappropriate emoji)
DF: Stuff it.
BC: You WANT her!
Sure Darcy wanted her. He’d never wanted anyone the way he yearned for Elizabeth, but Bingley was obtuse if he couldn’t think beyond physical desire.
Darcy wanted Elizabeth, but he wanted all of her. Her sharp mind and carefree spirit, her thoughtful soul and every last ounce of her heart in a commitment that would see them through their twilight years.
He wanted her, not to possess but to share every joy and sorrow that life would bring them. And he wanted her on the right terms—not out of gratitude for how he’d helped her family, though he’d tried to keep that quiet, nor out of anything except the certainty that she felt the same way about him.
She might have started coming around at Pemberley, but considering her coolness toward him last time they met, the likelihood of her reciprocating was about as probable as a snowstorm in south Texas.
BC: ROFL (more inappropriate emoji)
DF: Quit being adolescent.
BC: This is NEWS, hombre!!!
DF: Need I remind you? You’ve been preoccupied.
BC: Busy (less syllables)
DF: Fewer.
Darcy flipped a three-point turn and backed into the first parallel parking spot large enough to accommodate his dually. Of all the weeks he could have chosen to bring a ranch truck in for servicing—too bad Bingley didn’t pick a restaurant with valet.
BC: Thought you didn’t like E
Darcy stepped on the emergency brake and it ratcheted into place. His voice reverberated in the quiet cab. “Didn’t think I liked her? I love her. I’d send her a thousand poems every day”—the phone tried to speak over him—“if I thought it’d win her heart.”
“Message sent.”
What? Darcy yanked the phone off the console mount and read his last message.
DF: Didn’t think I liked her I love her I’d
Plain as the plans on his easel, punctuation notwithstanding. Stupid smartphone. At least it didn’t mention poems. There’d be no escaping Bingley without an awkward explanation he’d rather avoid.
Darcy sighed and stepped from the running board to the street. The driver’s door slammed with a satisfying
whump. And on that note, he must walk to Tia Bonita’s and face Elizabeth with no preparation beyond his overeager imagination. His phone buzzed.
BC: Whoa there, big guy
DF: @Tia’s. Talk later.
BC: See you in 5
Five minutes by Bingley’s clock meant something the far side of fifteen. Darcy squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Truth was a bracing tonic. And the truth was this: he loved Elizabeth Bennet.
*****Elizabeth stared at the phone resting on the table in the secluded half-moon booth Jane had selected. Comprehending the message before her was nearly as impossible as ignoring the resumed notifications.
Darcy loved her. He’d just texted his best friend that he loved her.
Her. Elizabeth Bennet. The woman he’d insulted the first time they met and offended when he finally tried to ask her out. The woman who’d told him in no uncertain terms that he was an arrogant jerk. Her pulse hummed.
But that was before. Before she knew what really happened with his sister and before he rescued Lydia from her imbroglio with Wickham. Before he nudged Bingley back into Jane’s life. Before she’d come to appreciate Darcy for the talented, reserved, deeply reflective and devoted man that he was. In short, before she’d fallen in love with him.
Whether Darcy had changed or was simply showing his true colors, she couldn’t say. Perhaps both. In any event, he was on his way into the cafe.
Her breath came faster. She looked up from the phone. “Jane, what should I do?”
Jane paused combing her fingers through her long pale mane. “Hmm?”
Elizabeth patted the careless knot twisted atop her crown, the best she could manage in the car’s passenger mirror.
“You look lovely,” Jane smiled, “don’t worry.”
“No,” she slid the phone toward her sister, “read the latest messages.”
Jane leaned over the phone and then covered her mouth with one hand. She looked up, her tender gaze catching Elizabeth’s for only a moment before gliding past her shoulder and freezing in place.
Darcy was coming. He must be. If it’d been Bingley, Jane would have beamed and leaped to her feet. Jane’s color deepened further, highlighted by her porcelain complexion.
Elizabeth clutched her hands in her lap. She wouldn’t look. Desire to turn and watch him warred with effort to round up her skittering emotions. She swept her phone from the table and dropped it in her purse.
A figure stopped at the booth. “Evening, Jane.” Darcy’s baritone—that beloved voice she’d longed to hear again—bathed Elizabeth in memories.
“Glad you could make it.” Jane smiled back. Her sincere pleasure could light a room.
Elizabeth lowered her gaze from her sister’s face and watched from the corner of her eye. Darcy’s fingers rubbed—almost caressed—the table’s edge. Neatly trimmed nails. A callous on his middle finger, probably from hours gripping his pencil. Fingers that drew with graceful skill, that channeled designs for complex machines which in turn produced complex machines. She’d never known mechanical engineer could have such a sexy ring. She closed her lips on a sigh.
“Elizabeth.” He drew out each syllable as if savoring the very sound.
No more delay. Elizabeth rotated her head, and Darcy came into view piece by piece. An engraved gold cuff link. Black fine grain leather buckled around his trousers. Patterned lines on his tie leading up his shirt’s crumpled linen to the unbuttoned collar. His coat slung over one shoulder. He’d come straight from work after all. Dark stubble shading his cheeks shifted when his lips stretched into a smile. A smile that made her insides as mushy as the chocolate she left in her car. Then her eyes met his and held. But all she could see were words blinking on a small screen: I love her, I love her. She was making a fool of herself.
She forced cheerfulness into her smile and scooted closer to Jane. “Good to see you, Darcy.”
“May I?” Darcy gestured to the seat.
Elizabeth nodded. Why couldn’t she say something charming and witty?
He slipped in beside her, rested his elbows on the table, and looked between her and Jane. “Bingley should be along any minute.”
Jane raised both brows and cast Elizabeth a significant glance. “Yes, he texted as much.”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth and opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak, but he only asked Jane about the new school where she’d started teaching that fall.
Their conversation swirled around Elizabeth, and thoughts swirled in her mind. What should she do? Jane had encouraged her to own the truth immediately—that Darcy had a right to know about her inadvertent eavesdropping. But how? She shifted on the seat. Darcy’s body heat emanated against her thigh with the potency of afternoon sun. Enduring an entire evening of polite chitchat would be impossible.
Her palm smacked the table.
Jane started and Darcy swiveled toward her.
“Let’s go see the river,” Elizabeth said.
“Now?” Darcy said.
“Just while we’re waiting for Bingley.”
The tiniest smirk tugged at the edges of Jane’s mouth. “I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind.”
Elizabeth reached under the table to squeeze her sister’s hand. “We’ll only be a minute.”
“Don’t hurry on my account.” Jane pressed her lips tighter. Yes, she was definitely hiding a smile.
Darcy slipped out of the booth, stood, and extended his hand.
Elizabeth’s fingers closed around his and he pulled her to her feet. He dropped his suitcoat on the vacated seat and said something about the heat, but all she could feel was his skin against hers. How could even the simplest contact tune every sense to him?
*****Darcy followed Elizabeth across the restaurant’s flagstone terrace. Her hips swayed with unaffected ease, setting the edge of her skirt fluttering against toned calves. He swallowed and lifted his gaze to perfect posture, sculpted shoulders and—
Look up, man.
Strings of lightbulbs crisscrossed overhead and a Spanish guitarist’s complex notes shimmered in the balmy autumn night. The packed tables wouldn’t permit enough space to dance. Too bad.
Elizabeth skipped down five steps to the river level, crossed the sidewalk into an alcove and leaned over the rail to peer out across the waterway. Bougainvillea to either side framed her in magenta, the delicate leaves waving like tissue paper on the breeze.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she said.
The Riverwalk was always lovely, especially at night. Reflected lights glittered from the green water as it wove around countless restaurant patios. Children squealed and couples strolled hand in hand. Muted laughter and music blended in the air. All the occasions he’d come here and never been so enchanted.
Darcy bent to lean against the railing beside her. “Almost magical.”
“You exaggerate.” Her light laugh was dizzying.
“I’ve missed your laugh.” He turned his head to gauge her reaction.
The spark extinguished in her face. He’d been too bold. He should have just—
“Darcy, I—” She straightened and turned to face him.
He straightened as well and mirrored her.
She clasped and unclasped her hands but would not meet his eye.
Dread sank heavy in his gut. “Whatever you brought me out here to say, please just say it. I hope you’ll count me as a friend.”
Her lips quivered—with mirth, sorrow, anger? He didn’t want to repeat the error of assuming he could accurately interpret her expressions.
Elizabeth pulled her purse around and shuffled through the contents. She withdrew her phone, and artificial light flared in the dimness. She offered it to him. “The texts you exchanged with Bingley about meeting tonight—”
He accepted her phone, and his brow furrowed. What did that have to do with anything?
“—I don’t think you were aware I was included in the group message.”
“You—” He swallowed. “Group message?” His words blazed from her screen:
Didn’t think I liked her I love her I’d… Heat rushed up his neck and radiated from his cheeks and forehead. He might as well have streaked naked down the sidewalk. She’d read that? He hadn’t even meant to send it to Bingley, and Elizabeth of all people had read it?
“I’m sorry.” Her eyebrows pinched together in the endearing manner that was all Elizabeth. “I know I should have said something when I first realized, but then you and Bingley started, you know—” One shoulder rose and fell in a lopsided shrug. “I didn’t know how to announce myself.”
Darcy released the breath he was holding, though the blood still thumped in his ears. “It’s okay.” If his confession meant anything to her, she would have said as much. If nothing else, at least he could try to put her at ease. And then he’d wring Bingley’s absentminded neck. He passed the phone back to her. “Don’t even give it a second thought.”
“It’s not okay. I’m apologizing for reading a private message you never meant for me to read.”
“And I forgive you.”
She frowned and stared at him.
If she was waiting for him to apologize for loving her, he wasn’t going to do it. Not even if she didn’t like him. Not when it was the truth.
“Is that all?” A single dark eyebrow arched skyward.
The expectancy in her features pulsed like a warning beacon. He was missing something vital—like one of those moments when Georgiana chose the middle of a Longhorns’ game to ask his opinion. To answer correctly, he needed to know the question. “What do you want me to say?”
Her posture faltered. “You’re right. It’s okay. Let’s just go inside and join Jane and Bingley.”
Time slowed. The bougainvillea lifted and danced on the invisible currents. They’d made so many mistakes. Darcy touched her forearm. “Wait. You asked me a question and I gave you the wrong answer. Let’s not go in until we’ve cleared the air.”
Elizabeth’s mirth guttered like a candle at its end.
His fingers closed tighter around her arm, holding her in place. “Please, Elizabeth.”
“I—I—,” Her gaze darted beyond his shoulder then out across the river before returning to alight on him. “I guess what I really want to know is if you meant it.”
The mystery was unraveling, if he could just induce her to be more specific. “Meant what?”
She waved her phone in the air and cleared her throat. “You know, your text?” Her eyebrows peaked again in accent to her words. Her supple arm muscles trembled within his grasp, like a barrel racer with every nerve poised to run.
She was asking if he loved her. Which meant—
It felt like a cote of doves had nested in his ribcage and were beating their wings against the walls of his chest.
He tugged her closer and stepped near in the same moment. Her eyes widened but she didn’t resist. His free hand stroked up her arm and settled into the curve of her neck, his fingers toying with loose tendrils of her hair. Stars shone from between her dark lashes.
“I meant every word. I love you.” Thickness in his throat made his voice rough. “And if there’s any chance you’d forgive me for being an absolute fool last—”
“Yes.” She leaned into his hand and covered it with her own.
“You will?”
“Long ago.” She turned her head and pressed her soft mouth to his palm. It nearly made his knees melt.
He leaned nearer to catch her muffled voice.
“And I do too.”
“Do what?”
“Love you.”
The doves took flight as one, exploding from his chest with unbearable joy. He drew her face back toward him and lost himself to her touch, her taste, her lips. At last.
*****Elizabeth let her hands drift down Darcy’s back and rested her head against his chest. His heart beat beneath her ear, its cadence slowing. The rhythm anchored her in reality far better than any dream. She closed her eyes to the night’s beauty. Softer than the evening breeze, steadier than the river’s current, warmer than the autumn night—nothing could compare to the wonder of him.
“Darcy?” She murmured his name without raising her head.
“Hmm?”
“Your text cut off with ‘I’d’. What were you going to say? You’d—”
The chuckle in his chest vibrated against her cheek. “You know, I never intended that as a message to anyone, but it seems my smartphone outsmarted me.”
“Evading the question?”
“No.” His lips burrowed into her hair. “I think I said something like, ‘I’d send her a thousand poems if it’d win her heart.’”
“Really?”
“It’d be a quick way to lose you forever once you read my pathetic attempt.” His hands stroked her back as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. “I’m an engineer, not a poet.”
“I’d love anything you write.”
“You’re just saying that.”
She wasn’t. Even now she could recall his tidy block lettering, the novelty of holding actual ink and paper, and the riot of emotion his words evoked. “I still have your letter.”
“Which should be burned.”
She smiled into his shirt. That letter was one of many things they needed to discuss—and they would. Maybe not tonight, but they could work through their mistakes and misjudgments, she was confident of that now. The phone in her hand vibrated against his waist, echoed simultaneously by his phone pressing somewhere near her hip.
Darcy muttered. “Bingley.”
Elizabeth pulled away and held her phone between them.
BC: Should I say I’m sorry… or you’re welcome?
Darcy released her with one arm to grab her phone and type a one-handed reply.
EB: Thank you. Now go away. -D
They bent their heads together over the screen while grey ellipses winked each passing second.
BC: Tell D he can do better than that (kissing emoji)
Elizabeth giggled. Maybe she should be outraged or mortified to have been observed, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care, not when she was in Darcy’s arms and he was amused.
Darcy smiled and slipped her phone into his other pocket. He lifted his hands to either side of her face and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs.
A thrill of sensation shot all the way to her sandals. “You’re not going to let Bingley goad you into—”
“As if I needed any encouragement.” His laughter rumbled low and deep. “You are so beautiful, I…” His eyes picked up where his words left off, dark and gravid with things unsaid.
Elizabeth inhaled. It didn’t matter who was watching, not Bingley, not Jane, not a thousand spectators on the Riverwalk. Darcy’s fingertips traced her eyebrow, her hairline, her jaw with a deliberation so gentle and excruciating that she wound tight as a guitar string.
“He’s right, you know”—one side of Darcy’s mouth curved up, then he dipped his head until his breath fell humid and heavy against her lips—“I can do better.”
And he did.
THE END