39. Chapter 39

The incredible CassandraLowery beta'd this chapter.

Chapter 38

Darcy sat in his darkened room, his gaze fixed on the flame of a single candle flickering sporadically in the blackness. His steady breathing and the sputtering of the candle marked the passage of time. Darcy closed his eyes. Despite his physical weariness, he would not sleep this night. He turned his head and watched the shadows dance erratically on the walls, mirroring his scattered thoughts.

Darcy sighed, the sound breaking the solemn stillness. Today he would tell Elizabeth. His eyes rested on the drawing he held in his hands, a tangible reminder of his promise to Elizabeth…and to his mother. For eleven years this unknown woman had been an illusion, unattainable as a gust of wind. But the reality of Elizabeth surpassed every expectation and imagined fantasy. He knew the love and devotion he had for her was real and eternal. Irrespective of his mother's dream, he was left with one unassailable fact: Elizabeth was meant to be his. Would she understand? Would she believe him? His mind wandered back to earlier that evening when she had looked at him with complete trust and love as she pledged her loyalty to him. He would place his trust in her, in them. There was nothing more he could do.

Darcy set the drawing aside, allowing his thoughts to wander down paths previously eluded. The weight of memory pressed down on his heart and soul, but this time he welcomed and embraced his grief and pain. He was emotionally exhausted from trying to divert thoughts of his mother to safer channels. His mother needed to be remembered, honored, and celebrated, not relegated to the deepest recesses of his mind. She deserved better than a son who was too fearful to even speak her name. Over the years, many had tried and failed to get him to speak of Anne Darcy; only Elizabeth had not retreated when faced with his pain and stubbornness. Instead, with gentle words and unconditional love, she had invited him to face his fear and speak of his mother rather than feed him false platitudes and empty words. He knew his Elizabeth, more than any other, understood the true value of a mother's love.

The room gradually lightened, the early morning rays bathing the room in a warm glow. As the dawn light fell across his face, a feeling of peace passed through him like a blessing from heaven, leaving his mind clear and focused. Physically weary, but with a light heart he went to his writing desk to begin his daily letter to Elizabeth. His valet entered noiselessly as he pressed his signet ring to the cooling wax.

Darcy was thankful that Stephenson didn't comment on his obvious state of weariness or the fact that his bed had not been slept in. He simply went about readying his master for the coming day with a quiet efficiency. Within thirty minutes, Darcy was sitting at the small dining table to break his fast.

A short while later, Darcy sat at the desk in his study, methodically going through a pile of correspondence. He sighed as he read another letter from his steward. Although the man was extremely competent, Darcy could tell by the increasing number of letters that he was becoming anxious at his master's long absence. He had never before been away from Pemberley for so long, and he missed his ancestral home. The only reason he remained in London was for Elizabeth. He mentally calculated the soonest he could make the four day journey to Derbyshire. Assuming Mr. Bennet kept his promise and consented to his marriage to Elizabeth a week after her arrival at Longbourn, the earliest they could marry would be the end of June. He smiled in satisfaction; Elizabeth would see Pemberley during the height of summer.

He completed the letter to his steward before picking up the next in the slowly decreasing pile. Seeing it was from Dr. Brown, his family physician, he eagerly opened it and read the short message. He had contacted Dr. Brown to ask him to consult on Williamson's case and assess his condition. Darcy didn't know if anything more could be done for the man, but he felt compelled to act after meeting him and hearing his sad history. He wanted to ensure that Williamson was receiving the best possible care. He wished to see him relocated to a better place, but he would deal with that issue later. Williamson's health was more pressing that his deplorable living conditions. He tapped Dr. Brown's letter with his forefinger, lost in thought. He needed to handle this delicately; he had no desire to offend the man's pride. He finally decided that complete honesty would be best. As he finished up the letter to Williamson, Fletcher knocked and entered, his expression apologetic. Darcy suppressed a sigh. He disliked being interrupted unless absolutely necessary.

"Lady Worthington to see you, sir."

Darcy's brows raised in astonishment. Apparently, Lady Worthington's eccentricities included making social calls before nine in the morning. He supposed gossip couldn't wait, he thought wryly. He stood and bowed, fixing a polite but distant smile on his face as the lady entered in a flurry of burgundy and yellow.

Lady Worthington nodded a greeting and arranged herself in his favorite chair by the fireplace with much ceremony. She craned her neck, and gesturing to the chair opposite, commanded, "Sit."

Darcy's smile faded to be replaced with an indignant frown at being treated like an errant boy and in his own home. He swallowed back a retort and obeyed, knowing that Lady Worthington would not be gainsaid. He waited for her to speak, meeting her gaze with raised brows.

Lady Worthington smirked. She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders before saying, "I believe you have questions for me."

Darcy blinked once as he regarded the woman who sat calmly across from him. Yes, he had questions, but only one was important.

"Why did you tell Elizabeth about my mother's drawings?"

"Because you have not."

Darcy's eyes flashed with anger at the woman's presumption. "It was not your place, my lady."

Lady Worthington snorted. "That's where you're wrong, my dear boy. I made a promise to your mother which I intend to keep."

Darcy struggled to hide his surprise. "What did you promise?"

"To ensure that you informed Elizabeth."

Darcy exhaled slowly. He had also made a promise to his mother which he had every intention of keeping. He knew why his mother felt it was necessary to inform his future wife of the drawing and how it came to be, and he agreed. He didn't wish to start his marriage to Elizabeth with secrets. He felt a mixture of anger and sadness that his mother had felt it necessary that another be told, that she had not trusted him to keep his word.

Darcy's expression was imperturbable. "I am going to tell her."

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, her tone curious.

Darcy glanced away from Lady Worthington's knowing gaze. What did she know about his relationship with Elizabeth? He had waited for a reason. Trust didn't come easily to Elizabeth because of the lack of relationship with her mother, and it had negatively affected her self-worth. Understanding this truth about the woman he loved, he had resolved to gain her trust before telling her. He wanted Elizabeth to know, without any doubt, that he loved her. Now, faced with Lady Worthington's prying questions, he was plagued with uncertainty. What if he had waited too long? Would she see this as another betrayal of trust? As soon as these negative thoughts invaded his mind, he felt the same feeling of peace from that morning settle over him, replacing his fear with hope.

Darcy replied, his tone stiff and formal, "There are extenuating circumstances which have prevented me from disclosing my mother's dream and drawing to Elizabeth, but…."

Lady Worthington's loud laughter cut through the awkward tension of the room like a ray of sunlight in an overcast sky.

She leaned forward, gasping as she caught her breath, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Oh, my dear boy. That formal rigidity does not work with me." She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes before stating bluntly, "You're afraid."

Darcy clenched his jaw, the only sign that he was affected by her words. "I will tell Elizabeth. That is all you need to know. Your promise is fulfilled."

Lady Worthington considered his words then nodded, satisfied. "I have one other duty to carry out before we talk of other things."

Darcy settled back in his chair and waited. He knew he was acting contemptibly, but he was irritated with Lady Worthington and her intrusiveness into something that was intensely private and personal. His mother had obviously trusted the woman sitting across from him, but he didn't. There was a reason he had only ever told Richard and Georgiana about his mother's drawing of Elizabeth. He nodded for Lady Worthington to proceed.

Lady Worthington pursed her lips, her keen eyes assessing him. Darcy remained unaffected, his expression composed.

"Have you read your mother's journals?"

Darcy inhaled sharply. The nerve of the woman! He didn't care that Lady Worthington had been a close acquaintance of his mother; she had no right to ask such a personal question. His mind conjured up a picture of him sitting beside his mother at her writing desk, the scratching of her pen the only sound in the quiet room. She had written daily in her journal. As a young boy, the constancy of that act was as calming as the steady flow of words on a blank page. He remembered sitting beside her, watching as she filled the journal pages with her clear and beautiful script. He had been convinced that she couldn't write unless he was there to mend her pen. She had recognized from his early years that he needed to feel wanted, important, and useful. It was not until he was much older that he realized what she had been doing, and he had loved her all the more for it. He exhaled slowly, gently pushing the memory and its accompanying ache away to be examined at a later time.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I don't see how my mother's journals are any business of yours." Darcy's voice was laced with warning. Her questions were intrusive and unwelcome, and his forbearance was running thin.

Lady Worthington tilted her head, studying him as if she found him to be a rare and interesting specimen. It was unnerving. Her gaze remained fixed on his, assessing, calculating. Darcy forced himself to remain calm; he would give nothing away. The last thing he wished was to become an object of speculation and gossip.

Her gaze softened, and she sighed. "You haven't. I would ask why, but I imagine I would receive no answer. So, I will simply ask that you read them because she wished it." She paused. "I imagine young Miss Darcy would like to read them as well."

Darcy heard the slight reproach in Lady Worthington's voice and felt a wave of shame. All his mother's things had been packed away and placed in the attics of Pemberley and Darcy House, including her journals. Over the past eleven years, not once had it occurred to him to give his mother's journals or any of her other belongings to Georgiana. He had thought only of himself and his own pain. His shame grew as he recalled all the times that Georgiana had asked about his mother, and he had brushed her off, unwilling to face his own grief. He resolved to be more open and honest with his sister. He may not be ready to read his mother's words, but he would give the journals to Georgiana.

"Thank you, Lady Worthington. I will see that she gets them." He stood, signaling the end of the visit.

Unsurprisingly, she ignored his subtle hint. He knew she was forthright, so he would be as well. "Thank you for your visit, Lady Worthington. Fletcher will see you out." He moved to ring for his butler, but she remained sitting, settling herself more comfortably in his chair with a benevolent smile on her face.

He suppressed a sigh, and asked, "Was there something else you wished to discuss?"

Lady Worthington raised a brow. "As a matter of fact, there is." She glanced at the chair he had vacated. "You may wish to sit down for this."

This time, Darcy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She waited until he had resumed his seat before saying, "Lady Emily is spreading rumors about you, Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth."

It took all of Darcy's self-control to not react violently at such news. In a voice deadly calm, he asked, "What exactly is…that woman saying?" He barely refrained from calling her a "spiteful harpy."

Lady Worthington hesitated before replying. "That you wished to marry Miss Bennet, but she rebuffed your advances in preference to your cousin, so you…settled for Miss Elizabeth instead." She paused at the look of fury on Darcy's face. "That bit has been circulating since Wednesday. The newest gossip is that you had a hand in your cousin being sent back to the Iberian Peninsula as a form of revenge. As he left so suddenly…." Her voice trailed off, and she averted her eyes, unable to hold Darcy's furious gaze.

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily as he attempted to contain his anger. Curse that woman to the deepest pit of Hades, he thought viciously. He should not be so surprised that Richard's departure was a source of gossip. His sudden leaving was unusual, but not unheard of. No doubt the majority of society's finest forgot that they were even at war insofar as it didn't affect their comfortable and degenerate lifestyles. It was as if that woman had just been waiting for such an event to occur to give her vicious rumor a hint of truth. No doubt the gossip-mongering busybodies would descend on Matlock House today to determine the veracity of the rumor.

"This is why it is imperative that you announce your engagement to Miss Elizabeth at my ball, Darcy. I will refute the rumors, of course, but actions will speak louder than words, especially in this instance. You spoke with Mr. Bennet yesterday, did you not?" Lady Worthington nodded once in satisfaction. "I know you hate to be on display, but under the circumstances I see no better way to quell the rumors."

Darcy dug his fingers into the fine leather of his armchair, cursing Mr. Bennet again under his breath. "There will be no announcement, my lady," Darcy ground out through his teeth.

Lady Worthington straightened, her eyes flashing, ready to do battle. "Now, Darcy. Think of your Miss Elizabeth…."

Darcy stood, resting both hands on the mantel, his head bowed. As loathe as he was to disclose his failure, he knew she would be relentless until she knew why. "Mr. Bennet refused to give his consent to our marriage until after Elizabeth returns home. I am afraid it is out of my control, my lady."

When she didn't respond, Darcy turned to see Lady Worthington's mouth gaping, her eyes wide with disbelief. She worked her mouth for a moment, and Darcy braced himself for the tirade that was sure to come. He was not disappointed.

"Well!" she huffed indignantly. "Of all the imbecilic, bird-witted things to do! What can that man be thinking? I have half a mind to march straight to Hertfordshire and give him a piece of my mind."

A trace of amusement crossed Darcy's face at the image of Lady Worthington giving Mr. Bennet a dressing down. He would pay good money to see that.

Lady Worthington stood and began pacing, her brows lowered in concentration, lips moving silently. She'd occasionally pause and look up, an intense look on her face before resuming her circuit around his study.

Darcy watched Lady Worthington's frantic pacing with growing alarm. "I don't see why a formal announcement needs to be made. You are not a relation to Elizabeth or myself, so it will not be expected. I believe a word in the right ear of our intent to marry will be sufficient. I don't plan on leaving her side all evening, so that will dispel any rumor that I…settled," he spat out the word as if he tasted something vile, "for Elizabeth."

Lady Worthington continued to pace, oblivious to his speech. Darcy suppressed a sigh, his thoughts turning to the very satisfying and deserved "cut" he planned to give Lady Emily at the ball. If Lady Worthington wished for action, she would have it. Perhaps he'd disclose Lord Sefton's financial troubles in the right ear and watch the fallout, and he would do so without a trace of guilt. Rumors involving himself bothered him little, but woe be to anyone who disparaged Elizabeth or her sister.

Lady Worthington paused in her pacing, giving him her full attention, her expression exultant. "Do you have the Bride Necklace here at Darcy House?"

Darcy looked at Lady Worthington, a slow smile gracing his face. Of course. It was perfect. The Bride Necklace had been in the Darcy family for three generations. His father had gifted it to his mother shortly after they had been engaged. She had worn it at the next ball of the season, declaring to all of London Society that she had accepted Mr. George Darcy's hand in marriage. It had been more effective than an announcement in The Times.

"I believe it is, my lady."

"If Miss Elizabeth were to wear that necklace to my ball, it would more than dispel the rumors. Everyone will know exactly what it means, and they would not believe that you would give it to anyone but the woman you love." Lady Worthington rubbed her hands together in glee. "This will be much better, oh yes, much better."

She resumed her pacing, muttering under her breath. Darcy waited patiently, feeling a wave of gratitude towards the eccentric woman who was currently wearing a path in his carpet. Although he didn't have Mr. Bennet's permission, he didn't have his refusal either, so he would feel no guilt in gifting Elizabeth the Bride Necklace. It heralded his intent to marry Elizabeth, nothing more. He would give it to her after he told her about the drawing.

"You will meet her at the ball. Be sure to arrive first so you can go right to her…."

Darcy raised his hand to halt her speech. "With all due respect, my lady, I will escort Elizabeth to the ball."

Lady Worthington huffed. "You have no sense of the dramatic, Darcy. Imagine how romantic it will be as you cut through the guests to go to her side, your eyes only for her. You will kiss her hand, and then…" she leveled a pointed look at Darcy, "you will escort her into the ballroom where you will of course dance the first set. That will set the tongues wagging, you mark my words."

Darcy mentally rolled his eyes. With Lady Worthington's flair for the dramatic, he believed she had missed her true calling in life…as a stage actress. He conceded to her plan after arguing for some minutes. He had never met a more stubborn, opinionated woman than Lady Worthington. But he had to give her credit, it was a brilliant plan. As much as he hated being put on display and being made a spectacle, for Elizabeth he would do so willingly. It was no hardship to show all of London's finest his adoration for the woman who would be his wife.

Lady Worthington cleared her throat. "Before I go, may I see Anne's drawing of Miss Elizabeth?"

~oOOo~

Elizabeth was greeted by brother and sister as she entered the marbled foyer of Darcy House. Before she could utter a word, Georgiana had grabbed her hand and with a breathless, "Excuse me, brother," pulled Elizabeth toward the stairs.

Elizabeth glanced behind her to see Fitzwilliam's resigned expression. She bestowed an apologetic smile before Georgiana's strong grip on her hand propelled her up the stairs and out of sight.

Elizabeth quirked a smile at Georgiana's forceful behavior. As anxious as she was to discover what Fitzwilliam wished to show her, she could not deny that Georgiana had great need of her as well.

As soon as they entered Georgiana's private sitting room, she turned, keeping hold of Elizabeth's hand in a vice-like grip. "My brother told me about his visit to Longbourn."

Elizabeth sighed and squeezed Georgiana's hand. "I don't know why my father is being so difficult, Georgiana. But please don't worry; all will work out. You will have me for a sister, I promise." Elizabeth bestowed what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Georgiana didn't answer but gave Elizabeth a searching look. "Is this why Brother doesn't wish me to ask about your family?"

Elizabeth blinked, unsure how to respond. Georgiana had known nothing but love and complete acceptance from her family; Elizabeth didn't know how to explain the abnormality of her own. Misinterpreting Elizabeth's silence as discomfort, Georgiana hurriedly apologized.

"Don't be. It is true that my family life is…different, but I don't believe this is what you wish to talk about. Am I correct?" Elizabeth bit her lip, hoping her subterfuge would be successful. She didn't wish to lie to Georgiana, but she didn't believe her tender heart could handle the truth about her home life.

Georgiana sat on the sofa, motioning for Elizabeth to sit beside her. Gone was the apprehensive fifteen-year-old, replaced with a young woman quivering with suppressed excitement. "What was Jane's response to my cousin?"

Elizabeth stared at Georgiana in confusion. She thought that Fitzwilliam would have informed his sister of Jane's despondency with the Colonel's departure. "Jane didn't see Colonel Fitzwilliam. We were out when he called."

Georgiana covered her mouth, her eyes wide with distress. "But…but…he was going to ask Jane to marry him!"

Elizabeth's mouth opened in shock. Could it be? She reached over, clasping Georgiana's hand. "Are you certain? Absolutely certain that was his intent?"

Georgiana nodded her head. "Oh yes, I am quite certain. It was the last thing he told me before he left. I was so happy for them." Her expression fell. "If Jane was not there then he didn't see her, and now he is gone. Oh Lizzy, it is too horrible!"

Elizabeth was reeling with this unexpected but very welcome news. She had not seen or spoken to Jane since she had fled the drawing room after hearing the news of Colonel Fitzwilliam's abrupt departure. She couldn't begin to understand her sister's distress, knowing the man she loved was gone without a word. Jane must believe that he cared nothing for her! If she could tell Jane of the Colonel's intentions, she would know that he did love her. But why hadn't the Colonel left his calling card?

Elizabeth stood, desperate to see her sister. She couldn't bear Jane not knowing Colonel Fitzwilliam's intentions.

Georgiana looked up, startled at Elizabeth's sudden movement. "Lizzy? What is it?"

"Forgive me, Georgiana, but I need to talk to Jane immediately. She needs to know…."

Georgiana reached for a small package on the table beside her, pressing it into Elizabeth's hand. "Of course. Here, this is for you. I know it's not much, but I wanted to thank you for speaking to Fitzwilliam about Mother." She stood, an excited gleam in her eyes. Walking over to her writing desk, she retrieved a small, leather bound book. "Fitzwilliam gave this to me today," she said, handing the book to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth looked from the wrapped package in one hand to the book in the other. "Which would you like me to open first?" she asked with a small laugh.

Georgiana grinned sheepishly. Pointing to the wrapped package, she said, "This one."

Elizabeth sat, placing the book beside her. The gift was a white linen handkerchief, edged with the most exquisite piece of lace Elizabeth had ever seen. In one corner were the initials: ED. Elizabeth drew a shaky breath at seeing her soon-to-be monogram.

"I hope I'm not being too presumptuous with the initials. But I know you will soon be my sister so it's not entirely inappropriate…."

Elizabeth laughed, covering Georgiana's hand with her own to stem the young girl's rambling. "I love it, Georgiana. It was very thoughtful of you. Thank you."

Georgiana beamed. "I don't know what you said to Fitzwilliam, but he gave me that book today."

Curious, Elizabeth reached over and picked up the small, black book. She opened it to the first page and began to read. Her lips parted in surprise. "Your mother kept a journal?"

Georgiana nodded, her eyes bright with happiness. "This is the only one Fitzwilliam could find here. He said the rest are at Pemberley." She hugged herself, sighing happily. "Do you have any idea how I feel? To have my mother's words; it's like she's speaking to me."

"I am glad, Georgiana. Have you read any of it yet?"

Georgiana shook her head, taking the book from Elizabeth. "No, Brother gave it to me shortly before you arrived." She casually thumbed through the journal. "Oh! Look!" She placed the open journal in Elizabeth's lap. "My mother drew Fitzwilliam." She pointed to a drawing of a young boy playing with a ball on the floor. Although the sketch was small, the detail was exquisite.

"Lady Worthington told me that your mother was a gifted artist. I see she was correct." Elizabeth turned another page revealing another sketch of Fitzwilliam, this time sitting in a chair.

"Lady Worthington told you?"

Elizabeth turned to look at Georgiana, surprised by the trepidation she heard in her young friend's voice. "Yes. Yesterday, we went to Worthington House for tea. She asked if Fitzwilliam had shown me any of Lady Anne's drawings. Now I understand why."

Elizabeth turned another page, hoping to see more. They were really quite remarkable. She was no artist, but even her untrained eye could clearly see that Anne Darcy had a rare talent. She glanced at Georgiana from the corner of her eye. She didn't wish to overstep her bounds by perusing something that Georgiana had not yet had a chance to read, especially since it was her mother's private journal. She was startled to see that Georgiana's face was pale, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at Elizabeth.

"Georgiana?" Elizabeth closed the book. "What is it?"

Georgiana shook her head, breaking Elizabeth's gaze. "I'm sorry. Did you say Lady Worthington told you to ask Fitzwilliam to show you my mother's drawings?"

Elizabeth nodded, confused by Georgiana's reaction. "Yes, that's correct. Fitzwilliam asked me here today to show me your mother's drawings. He acted as if it was important."

"Fitzwilliam is showing you Mother's drawing today?" she squeaked.

"Yes," Elizabeth answered slowly. She turned so she was facing Georgiana. "Is there a reason why he should not show me the drawings?"

"No!" Georgiana protested. "No, of course not. In fact, you need to go to him right now." Georgiana pulled Elizabeth to her feet and began dragging her to the door.

Elizabeth laughed. "Stop, Georgiana! I wish to see Fitzwilliam, but I really need to see Jane."

Georgiana shook her head. "No, you must see Fitzwilliam now, Lizzy."

Elizabeth sighed as she was dragged for the second time that day by a very insistent young woman. She would explain to Fitzwilliam why she needed to see Jane without delay. He would understand.

Georgiana knocked on Fitzwilliam's study door, fidgeting impatiently as she waited for his expected response. When it was not forthcoming, she knocked again. Nothing. She huffed in exasperation. She looked at Elizabeth, her expression uncertain.

"Georgiana, I will leave a note for your brother. I really need to see Jane."

"No, please! Lizzy, you must talk to Fitzwilliam. You need to see…you need to understand…Oh! Please, just trust me."

Georgiana's insistent entreaty made Elizabeth pause. "Very well, Georgiana. Let's go find Fitzwilliam."

Georgiana opened the study door, tentatively peering around the door before pushing it wide open. "He's not here. Wait here and I'll go and find him." As Elizabeth entered the study, Georgiana gave her a pointed look. "Promise that you won't leave."

"I promise." Elizabeth made a shooing motion with her hands. "Now, go and find your brother."

Elizabeth stood just inside the door, biting her lip. She knew Fitzwilliam would not mind her being here, but she still felt uncomfortable invading his private space, his sanctuary. She wandered over to the bookshelf by his desk to peruse his collection. The only other time she had been in this room was the night of his birthday…Elizabeth blushed as she recalled what had occurred right before quitting this room in front of this bookshelf. Although her kiss had been spontaneous and awkward, that split-second moment of decision had been a turning point for Elizabeth. It was not the first time that she had been vulnerable in front of him, but it had been the first time that she had placed her complete trust in him. She had taken a leap of faith, hoping that he would protect and guard her heart: a heart that was already irrevocably his.

Elizabeth ran her fingertips along the spines, pausing at the book she had gifted him for his birthday, The Gentlemen's Book of Etiquette: Rules for Perfect Conduct. It was obvious that he had not been reading it like he should. She smiled mischievously. She would have to remedy that situation. She sighed and turned away, her eyes drawn to the massive mahogany desk in front of her. Everything was in immaculate order, not a paper or book was out of place. In the center of the desk lay a partially wrapped parcel, the linen cloth draped over half, leaving a portion exposed. At first glance, it appeared to be a picture of some kind as she could clearly see a gilded frame. She stepped closer, her curiosity roused. Without a thought of whether she should or even had the right to do so, she reached forward and drew the linen cloth from the frame.

Elizabeth gazed down at a drawing of a woman. Unblinking, she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. She closed her eyes, convinced they must be playing tricks on her. She opened them and was confronted with reality. Although she had seen but two small sketches, the drawing was obviously done by Anne Darcy, the style was unmistakable. The detail was so vivid, so real, the woman seemed to leap right off the page. Elizabeth breathed deeply, the steady rhythm keeping her calm as she tried to rationalize what she was seeing. But there could be no mistake. As improbable as it was, the drawing was of her. As realization set in, she felt blood rushing in her ears, the linen cloth falling forgotten to the floor, released from numb fingers.

Elizabeth's hands trembled, her heart beating furiously as she reached to pick up the drawing, her eyes searching for confirmation of what she already knew to be true. She found it. Near the bottom right hand corner were the initials, AFD, and below it a date, 1801. Her fingers hovered over the initials. Anne Fitzwilliam Darcy. Elizabeth felt incapable of coherent or logical thought in that moment. Her mind refused to settle, bouncing around from one unanswered question to the next.

She almost didn't hear it, a sound so low it could barely be heard above the blood rushing in her ears and the furious beating of her heart. It was a sound she would recognize anywhere, spoken by the most wonderful voice in the world. She looked up to see Fitzwilliam standing in front of her, calling her name.

A/N: I know, I know, I'm Evil for ending it there. It's a sickness. I just can't seem to help myself :) So, any ideas on what Elizabeth is going to say, or not say to Darcy? Will she hear him out? Yell? Accuse him? Run away? How about that nasty Lady Emily? Thought she had disappeared, didn't ya? I think she needs a smack down á la Caroline Bingley, don't you?

Once again, thank you so much for your support, appreciation, feedback, and encouragement. Every single review, follow, and favorite feeds my muse.

Much love,

MAH