40. Chapter 40

A huge thank you to my exceptional beta, CassandraLowery.

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.

Chapter 39

Elizabeth stared at Fitzwilliam, her gaze unfocused until her eyes were drawn, as if against her will, to the drawing clutched in her hand; staring at her perfect likeness until her eyes watered, aching to blink. Her world had shrunk to a single piece of paper. Amidst fractured thoughts, the tightness in her chest became unbearable, and she gasped, struggling for breath, the sound loud in the stillness of the room. Her emotions were in a tumult, alternating between disbelief, shock, and confusion with an undercurrent of fear running just below the surface, threatening to erode her trust in Fitzwilliam. Questions rose in her mind like waves, tumbling over each other for dominance. One question ascended above the others, rising to the forefront of her mind…

How was this possible?

"Elizabeth," Fitzwilliam called her again, his voice resonating deeply within her.

She raised her eyes to meet Fitzwilliam's, and in his clear, determined stare she became anchored, grounded. As he held her in his gaze, her thoughts became clear and focused, her emotions settling to a dull roar. She took a deep breath, the tightness in her chest easing slightly.

"Elizabeth, come and sit." He gently pried the framed drawing from her grasp and taking her by the elbow, he led her to the sofa.

He sat close beside her, his body facing her, their knees touching. The physical contact was comforting; it was safe, known. The tightness in her chest eased a little more.

"I apologize that you saw this as you did." Fitzwilliam's fingers ghosted over the drawing. "It was not my intent."

"You wished to keep this from me?" Elizabeth cried, her voice filled with accusation.

"No," he answered quickly. "No, of course not." Fitzwilliam's calm reassurance soothed her simmering indignation. "This is why I invited you here today, to show you the drawing and explain how it came to be." He placed the drawing aside, reaching for her hands, he began rubbing circles on the backs of her hands with his thumbs as his eyes fixed on the movement. He squeezed her hands once before lifting his head. "Will you listen to what I have to say?"

Fitzwilliam's earnest plea gave her pause. It was such a simple request, yet a difficult one. She wanted to assail him with questions and demand answers. She took a moment to study him as he sat so grave and silent before her. She could feel his tension in the clasp of his hands in hers and in the tenseness of his shoulders. His expression was carefully controlled and guarded, a clear indication that he was uneasy. He was nervous, not because of what he wanted to tell her, but because of her reaction. As she came to this realization, she felt her anxiety recede.

"I will listen to whatever you have to say."

Fitzwilliam bestowed a brief smile, his relief palpable. He took a deep breath before exhaling slowly, gathering his courage. He stared into her eyes with such intensity of feeling that she held her breath in anticipation.

"My mother drew your picture."

Elizabeth exhaled forcibly, letting his statement sink into her mind, reinforcing what she already knew to be true, as incredulous as it was to her rational mind. "I know."

Fitzwilliam blinked in shock. "How could you know?"

"There are sketches of you in your mother's journal." Elizabeth saw a flash of surprise cross Fitzwilliam's face before his expression turned contemplative. "The style is the same as the drawing…of…me." She stumbled over the words, her eyes involuntary straying to the drawing next to Fitzwilliam. "She was very talented."

"Yes, she was," he replied, his tone reverent.

Elizabeth waited for Fitzwilliam to continue, but he sat still and rigid as stone. She bit her lip against the questions that were growing so loud inside her that she felt the force of her thoughts could reach Fitzwilliam. The silence stretched out, settling over them like a heavy fog until Elizabeth felt smothered with words unspoken. Just when she could not take the silence any longer, he spoke.

"My mother was blessed with dreams of the future." Fitzwilliam watched her closely as he spoke, unsurprised at her incredulity. "I know how it sounds, but it is true."

Fitzwilliam squeezed her hands once and arose. "I have something else to show you."

Fitzwilliam walked with swift steps to his wall safe and removed something from inside. When he turned and walked back to her, Elizabeth saw that he held a single piece of paper, the edges tattered and worn from frequent handling. He looked at it for a brief moment before handing it to her.

Elizabeth held the paper gingerly in her open palms, conscious of its fragile state. She stared down at a man, a small smile gracing his handsome features. She would guess his age to be near Fitzwilliam's, around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. There were subtle differences, but the resemblance between father and son were unmistakable. She searched for initials, unsure if it was drawn by Anne Darcy. Although the style was similar, the rendering was unpolished, almost juvenile in nature.

"My mother drew this when she was fourteen." Fitzwilliam took the drawing from her, placing it on a nearby table. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. "For several months she dreamt of my father. At first it was just brief glimpses accompanied with feelings of peace and contentment. But it changed when her father died unexpectedly." He swallowed hard, a frown brushing across his forehead.

Elizabeth placed her hand on Fitzwilliam's back, hoping the small gesture would offer a measure of comfort as he revisited his own grief.

Fitzwilliam sat up, grasping her hand tightly in his before continuing. "In her pain and despair, my mother prayed, asking God to send comfort in her hour of need." He took a deep breath before continuing, his voice measured and sure. "In answer to her prayer, she began seeing my father in more detail. My mother believed that God sent the dream of my father to give her hope, something to cling to in her darkest hour."

Elizabeth remained silent as she pondered this new revelation. Was it possible? Although she had never heard of such a thing happening before, she readily admitted that her knowledge of such things was limited. Mary would know, and she'd have much to say on the subject. In that moment, she missed her younger sister acutely. She desperately needed her wise counsel and thoughtful insights right now.

"My mother knew that the man of whom she dreamt was her future husband. So she waited. Three years later she met my father during her first London season. They were married less than a year later." Fitzwilliam paused, his eyes searching her face, determining her state of mind. "My mother dreamt of you less than a week before she died."

"Your mother saw me in a dream?" Elizabeth spoke slowly, deliberately as if speaking the words would make them more believable.

Fitzwilliam regarded her with a solemn expression. "Yes."

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because you are my future, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth lowered her head, gathering her thoughts. She felt as if she were adrift in a sea of uncertainty. What did this all mean? She could feel the intensity of Fitzwilliam's focus on her face, tangible as a caress. Several heartbeats later, she lifted her eyes to meet his, the fervency in his gaze driving his words straight to her soul. Her mind drifted back to when they had first met, and then to each interaction since. Most of her memories were clear, straight lines; a few were blurred and smudged around the edges like a drawing, overshadowed by her emotions. Yet one particular memory would always stand out crisp and clear in her memory.

"It was me you were searching for that night at the ball."

Fitzwilliam nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "I have waited for you for nearly eleven years."

Elizabeth's unanswered questions rose up again, threatening to pour out of her like a flood, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. She resisted the urge until the pressure became too much, and she stood, pacing the carpet in front of Fitzwilliam. He remained seated and silent, watching her with patient understanding. She continued pacing, fighting her tumultuous emotions and her insatiable need to know.

Fitzwilliam stood, grasping her by the shoulders. "Ask me, Elizabeth." His voice was gentle, but firm.

Silence ensued. Elizabeth closed her eyes as if reaching for words, wrapping the stillness around her like a protective garment. "Did you choose me, Fitzwilliam?" Her voice was strong and unwavering despite her growing doubts and fear. She took a deep breath, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. "Do you love me of your own free will or simply because your mother saw me in a dream?" Her voice wavered, and she swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat.

Fitzwilliam gazed at her as if he could peer into the very depths of her soul. He took her hand and said simply, "Come."

Confused, Elizabeth allowed Fitzwilliam to lead her to a door hidden by the drapery. In moments they were outside, standing in the small garden behind Darcy House. Elizabeth blinked in the bright afternoon sunshine.

Without a word, Fitzwilliam led her to a man who she assumed was the gardener. Elizabeth looked around the beautiful garden as Fitzwilliam spoke to the gardener in a voice inaudible to her ears. The gardener bowed and left, entering a small greenhouse adjacent to the house.

Elizabeth looked at Fitzwilliam, brow raised in silent inquiry. He smiled and squeezed her hand. Moments later the gardener returned. In one hand he carried a young sapling, its roots covered in a burlap sack, a shovel in the other. Elizabeth's confusion grew.

"Thank you, Foss."

Mr. Foss placed the sapling on the ground, handing the shovel to Fitzwilliam before bowing and retreating to resume his previous task.

"Do you know what this is, Elizabeth?" Fitzwilliam asked.

Elizabeth studied the sapling, recognizing it immediately. "An oak sapling," she answered, reaching out to touch a tender leaf with a trembling hand. Her eyes began to burn as a strong wave of emotion swept over her. Just two days ago Fitzwilliam had promised to plant an oak tree in this very garden, a symbol of their love and future life together. She had forgotten, but it was obvious that he had not, nor had wasted any time in procuring one. The significance of the moment caused her heart to beat furiously, creating a warmth that radiated out from her chest, washing over her like a warm and gentle rain, cleansing her heart of doubt and fear.

"Oak trees are very interesting," Fitzwilliam said, his voice pensive. "They are known for their strength, endurance, and longevity. But what I find so fascinating is that they thrive in adverse conditions; their roots grow stronger, deeper, when faced with difficulty."

Fitzwilliam turned to face her, his blue eyes swirling with such intense emotion that Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. "You are the strongest soul I know, Elizabeth." Fitzwilliam's low voice traced each word lovingly like a caress. "Despite the adversity you've faced from a tender age, your soul remains pure, untainted from bitterness or resentment." He touched her cheek, the tips of his fingers gliding down her face as he spoke. "I admire your strength of character, your goodness and innocence. It angers and saddens me that you have had to face such hardship, but it has molded you into the person you are today: the woman I love with all my heart and soul."

The shovel hit the ground with a dull thud as Fitzwilliam stepped closer, cupping her face with his hands, wiping away the tears that were running down her cheeks with his thumbs. "My love for you is true and real and will endure longer than our lifetimes." He paused as if to allow time for his words to penetrate her heart and mind. "I do not love you because my mother saw you in a dream. I love you because I cannot…." Fitzwilliam's voice broke with emotion, his eyes clouded with tears. "I cannot live without you.

"I choose you, Elizabeth. I'll always choose you, without a doubt, without pause. I'll keep choosing you. Forever."

Elizabeth's heart clenched at the open vulnerability in Fitzwilliam's gaze, his emotions laid bare before her. With a sob, Elizabeth drew Fitzwilliam to her, burying her face in his chest, feeling his heart race in unison with hers. He had placed his faith and trust in her, and although her lips had promised that she would listen, her heart had betrayed him by allowing fear to replace trust, doubt to replace love. Her heart cried out at her inconstancy, her fickleness. Hadn't she just pledged her complete loyalty to him only last night?

Fitzwilliam held her in his embrace for some time, soothing her with soft words of endearment and gentle caresses. Once her tears were spent, she stepped back from the comforting circle of his arms. As soon as her eyes met his loving gaze, the last of her doubt disappeared, fear dissipating into nothing. The last remnants of the walls she had built to protect her heart shattered and fell away, leaving behind peace and contentment beyond anything she had experienced before.

"I believe you," she whispered, her eyes conveying her faith in him more eloquently than those three significant words ever could.

"Elizabeth," Fitzwilliam whispered her name in a low, reverent tone, pulling her to him with an almost urgent need. He held her so tightly that it was as if there were one heart beating between them. He lowered his head to seal their mutual understanding of complete trust with a kiss. His mouth was soft, plying her lips with gentle movements as if kissing her for the first time, then slowly gaining fervor. They stayed locked in each other's embrace, lost to everything and everyone around them but each other. Eventually they broke apart, Elizabeth laying her head on his chest, completely at peace.

"May I ask a question?" she whispered into the stillness.

"Of course, my love," Fitzwilliam answered, trailing kisses down her neck. "You may ask anything you wish."

Elizabeth closed her eyes in pure bliss, weaving her fingers in Fitzwilliam's hair to hold him at the sensitive juncture below her ear.

Fitzwilliam's teeth nibbled at her lobe, eliciting a quiet gasp. "You had a question for me?" His voice was full of suppressed mirth.

"Mmmmm….?" was Elizabeth's articulate reply.

Fitzwilliam's responding laughter was low and delicious, sliding over her skin like silk. He pulled away, kissing her nose.

Elizabeth opened her eyes to meet Fitzwilliam's amused but satisfied smile. Her face flushing under his blatant perusal, she cleared her throat, self-consciously smoothing back her hair. Fitzwilliam watched her movements with interest, a look of complete adoration on his face. When she had finished taming her hair into submission, she looked at Fitzwilliam, debating whether she really needed to know the answer to the question burning a hole in her mind.

Fitzwilliam had explained about his mother's drawing, and as fantastical as it was, she believed him. Or more significantly, she believed in him. She knew that he would never lie to her, that he would always be forthright and candid. It was Fitzwilliam's unshakeable faith in her that allowed her to realize the truth of his words. He had known that she would believe him before she did. She was left with two absolute truths: that he was truly the best man she had ever known, and that she needed him more than the air she breathed.

Sensing her inner struggle, Fitzwilliam took her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist before holding her palm against his heart. "Ask your question, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth nodded, looking towards the house, her expression thoughtful. "If Lady Worthington hadn't told me about your mother's drawings, would you have told me anyway?" Elizabeth turned her gaze back to Fitzwilliam, her expression open and devoid of any lingering doubt.

Fitzwilliam kissed her inner wrist again, his eyes never leaving hers. "Yes. I had always planned on telling you."

"When?"

"After gaining your father's consent," Fitzwilliam answered without hesitation.

Elizabeth's brows lowered. "Why wait so long?"

Fitzwilliam frowned, turning his head to stare at the sapling watching the leaves moving gently in the wind. He appeared to be debating with himself as a myriad of emotions flashed across his face. Finally, he turned back to her. "Was I wrong to wait until now to tell you?"

Elizabeth drew back, surprise coloring her face at Fitzwilliam's reply. After some minutes of turning his question over in her mind, she turned away and began to pace, her brow furrowed in thought. Her initial response was, unsurprisingly, that she wished he had told her sooner. Although she had reconciled his withholding the truth from her in her heart, her mind still demanded satisfaction. He knew that she didn't like secrets being kept from her, yet he had concealed the knowledge of his mother's dream until now. Why?

There were multiple opportunities when he could have told her. The most obvious and natural time to do so would have been when he had asked to court her. As she recalled that momentous day and all that had occurred, she halted abruptly, remembering the turmoil she had experienced that day: the misunderstanding with her uncle regarding Fitzwilliam's intentions, her dismissive behavior when her aunt and Jane had assumed that Fitzwilliam was going to ask to court her. She hung her head in shame as she remembered that not once, but twice, she had assumed the worst of Fitzwilliam after he had asked to court her. She shook her head in dismay. No, if he had told her then, it would have ended in disaster.

She resumed pacing, her mind frantically searching for a moment when he could have told her and she would not have reacted badly. Her mind flipped quickly through several memories: the Royal Menagerie and its aftermath, their reconciliation under the oak tree when Fitzwilliam had read her mother's letter and torn it to shreds. Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around her waist as she recalled her mother's biting words. She inhaled sharply at how vulnerable and mistrustful she was of Fitzwilliam and his intentions in the beginning of their relationship. She had treated each day with him as if it were her last, afraid that he would come to the realization that he didn't wish to court her and would walk away. Instead, he had demonstrated in word and action how much he loved and adored her: his daily letters expressing his love and appreciation, standing by her side as she confronted her uncle, opening his heart to her by talking of his mother. Looking back, she clearly saw how with each interaction, each tender caress and word of love, Fitzwilliam had proven his constancy and trustworthiness, and like the steady fall of rain, he had slowly broken down the barriers around her heart.

Elizabeth froze as the startling truth washed over her, and she turned to face Fitzwilliam, a look of awe and gratitude on her face. "If you had told me before, I would have run."

Fitzwilliam nodded, closing the brief distance between them. "I would have followed you."

"I know." Elizabeth gave Fitzwilliam a tender smile, her hand reaching up to cradle his face tenderly. "I understand now, Fitzwilliam," she said, eyes full of wonder. "Even if your mother had not dreamt of me and told you of it, the connection that is between us would still exist. We still would have found each other because our souls, our hearts, are inextricably linked." Elizabeth stared deeply into Fitzwilliam's eyes, seeing her joy mirrored in the depths of his ardent gaze. "There could never be anyone for me but you."

Fitzwilliam cupped the back of her head, resting his forehead against hers. "Thank you, my love. You've expressed my sentiments exactly."

Elizabeth breathed in deeply, her body melting into his with a contented sigh. She had no more questions; they didn't matter. All that mattered was the love and trust that existed between hearts and minds that were in complete unity one with another.

Eventually, Fitzwilliam broke the silence. "Come, we have a tree to plant." He pressed a kiss to her temple before releasing her to pick up the shovel.

~oOOo~

Darcy couldn't contain the euphoric smile from gracing his face as he led Elizabeth to the location he had chosen to plant their tree. She had believed him! Darcy was not, by nature, a gambling man, but he had risked his heart and future happiness with the woman he loved by deliberately keeping his mother's dream from her until she was ready to hear it. He had carried the weight of that decision for weeks, constantly questioning his judgment. But each time he had felt tempted to tell her, a small voice had whispered that he wait. He had cursed that inner voice when he had entered his study and seen Elizabeth with the drawing in her hand. The expression on her face had caused his heart to freeze in his chest and shatter in pieces at his feet.

He had never prayed more fervently than during that brief pause after he had asked her to listen. He understood Elizabeth and knew if he could just have the opportunity to explain, all would be well. Elizabeth didn't know why there was such a strong connection between them; yet she knew, as he did, that what existed between them could not be fabricated or imitated; it was tangible and real.

Darcy paused at a large flower bed overflowing with brightly colored blooms. He glanced at Elizabeth and smiled at the look of bewilderment on her lovely face.

"You wish to plant the tree here, Fitzwilliam?" She looked at the teeming flower bed, a slight frown on her face. "I think over there would be more suitable." She pointed to the far corner of the garden.

"Trust me, this is the perfect location." Fitzwilliam set down the sapling and laid the shovel at his feet before wading through the flowers, grinning at Elizabeth's shocked gasp. He turned to face the back of the house, hands on hips, brows lowered in concentration. He shifted his position slightly before nodding in satisfaction, pressing down with the toe of his heavy boot, marking the spot.

He returned to the pathway and an indignant Elizabeth. As he faced her, an idea entered his head that was too good to dismiss. His lips twitched in anticipation before his carefully controlled mask fell into place. "I am in need of your assistance, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth arched a single brow, her expression still conveyed her annoyance at the ruined flowers.

"In order for me to plant this sapling, I will require full movement of my arms."

Fitzwilliam watched as she processed the information, a slight frown puckering her brow. He cleared his throat. "I will need to remove my jacket."

Her brows raised to her hairline as she flushed a becoming pink. Suppressing a smirk, Darcy turned, presenting his back to Elizabeth. He waited. She was an intelligent woman; he knew she would understand.

"You cannot be serious, Fitzwilliam," she sputtered. "You expect me to…to…remove your jacket?" Her voice reached a high-pitched squeak.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes flashing with a devilish gleam. "Come now, my love. Don't be squeamish."

He turned back around, biting back his laugh as she began to stammer. He nearly jumped when he felt Elizabeth's small fingers at the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply as her fingers slid under the collar of his jacket, and with one smooth movement, she pulled his jacket down his back, catching at his elbows. Straightening his arms, he said in a decidedly unsteady voice, "Invert the sleeves."

When he felt he could face Elizabeth with some semblance of composure, he turned. "Thank you, my love. I don't know how I would have managed without you."

Elizabeth stared at him, mouth slightly agape, face flushed becomingly. Then her eyes narrowed, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Why you…you…."

Fitzwilliam burst into laughter as Elizabeth pushed his jacket against his chest. When she turned to leave, he reached out, snaking his arm around her waist. She began struggling against his hold, trying to pry his arm away from her. He leaned down, whispering in her ear, "Forgive me, my love. I could not resist." He kissed the side of her neck. Elizabeth stilled immediately.

She straightened and turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest. Her expression was curious as she perused his torso sans jacket. Slowly, her posture relaxed and her arms dropped to her sides.

"What respectable gentleman asks a lady to remove his jacket?"

Darcy raised his brows. Leaning towards her, he responded, "What respectable lady would be so bold as to remove a gentleman's jacket?"

Elizabeth bit her lip, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Touché."

Darcy took Elizabeth's hand, bestowing a kiss in the middle of her palm, then the inside of her wrist. "I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth cocked her head, her dark eyes flashing with good humor. "You didn't. I was simply…surprised."

"I hope I continue to surprise you, my love." He pulled her into his arms, and lowering his head he pressed his lips to hers in an ardent kiss. His heart nearly stopped when Elizabeth unexpectedly deepened their kiss, weaving her fingers into his hair. He groaned, pulling her flush against his body. She broke their kiss, an impish grin on her face.

"Did I…surprise you, Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth asked cheekily.

"Minx."

"Cad."

Darcy kissed her to stop her laugh. "I promise I will not ask you to remove my jacket again until we are married."

Elizabeth pulled away, placing her hands on the top of his shoulders before running her hands lightly down his arms, clad only in his linen shirt, her eyes tracking the movement. "Hmmm…pity."

Darcy laughed, leaning down to press one more kiss to her grinning lips. Life with Elizabeth would certainly never be dull. He reached down, picking up his discarded jacket and handed it to Elizabeth with a grin. He picked up the shovel and began digging a hole wide enough for the sapling.

"Why do you have to ruin a perfectly lovely flower bed, Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy paused, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. He held out his hand. "Come, let me show you."

Elizabeth hesitated before walking as carefully as she could through the flowers to stand next to him. He turned her to face the house. "If we plant the oak here it will be visible from every window of our private rooms." He pointed, indicating the upper windows on the right side of the house. "So every time we look out any of our windows, we will be reminded of every cherished memory that has occurred beneath your uncle's oak tree. And as it grows, we will create new memories beneath…and in…its branches."

Elizabeth smiled at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. "And to remind us that our love will endure and weather whatever hardships may come our way."

Darcy nodded. "Yes, exactly. I can face any adversity as long as you are by my side."

Elizabeth laid her head on Darcy's shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips as his arm wrapped around her waist. "We should plant forget-me-nots by the tree."

Darcy looked down at Elizabeth in surprise. "Of course, if you wish it. May I ask why?"

"They are my favorite wildflower." She looked up at him with an innocent smile, "And so you will always remember me when you see them beneath our oak."

Darcy tightened his grip around Elizabeth's waist. "That will be unnecessary, my love, as I don't anticipate us ever being apart."

Elizabeth laughed. "Not even those times when business brings you to London?"

"You will come with me, of course." He tapped her nose with his forefinger. "I meant what I said, Elizabeth. I never wish for us to be apart."

"As you wish."

As Elizabeth moved away, he said, "I only have one request."

Elizabeth raised her brow in silent inquiry.

"That the seeds come from Pemberley." His voice was soft, tinged with sadness. Elizabeth's innocent request had caused a familiar ache in his heart but not as acute as before. Forget-me-nots had been plentiful in this garden when his mother was alive, but his father had ripped them out the spring following her death during a rare visit to town. The flowers had been strewn along the pathways, crushed and broken like his father's heart…and his. He felt a swell of gratitude for Elizabeth's perceptiveness in her simple request. Even her innocuous comment that the small flower would allow him to "remember her" was a gentle reminder that it was time for his mother to be remembered and honored.

Elizabeth cupped his face, kissing his cheek tenderly. "I would not have it any other way."

Darcy squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "I wish you could have known my mother, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth bestowed a gentle smile, full of love and understanding. "But I do, Fitzwilliam. She is a part of you and of Georgiana. I imagine that from her you received your loyalty, determination, and your great capacity to love."

"And my passionate nature?" Darcy whispered low in her ear.

Elizabeth quirked a brow. "Oh, I have it on very good authority that your passionate nature comes from your father."

"Indeed? And where did you hear such a thing?"

Elizabeth looked at him expectantly, her eyes flashing with amusement.

"Lady Worthington," he stated. He shook his head. "I am beginning to think that lady has spies everywhere."

Elizabeth laughed. "I think she is simply extremely perceptive and has a firm understanding of human nature."

Darcy snorted. "She has also been blessed with extremely good luck."

"And impeccable timing."

Darcy raised his brows. "Indeed." He spied a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head in time to see a person move away from an upper story window. "I do believe we are being spied upon, Elizabeth."

"By whom?"

"I believe it was my dearest sister." Darcy frowned. He would have to talk with Georgiana about respecting other people's privacy. "No doubt she was simply curious about your reaction to our mother's dream."

"She knew?"

Darcy nodded. "Richard as well." He paused. "And I think you have deduced that Lady Worthington knew. Although I was not aware until you mentioned it last night." He rubbed his chin, his expression turning sheepish. "She paid me an early morning visit and threatened to tell you about mother's drawing if I did not."

Elizabeth blinked. "I knew there was a reason I liked her."

~oOOo~

Elizabeth hurried up the stairs, anxious to talk with Jane. Fitzwilliam had insisted on accompanying her, and Georgiana had begged and pleaded to come as well. She had argued that Elizabeth might need her help in convincing Jane of the Colonel's affections and intentions towards her. Fitzwilliam had promised to talk with Simmons regarding his cousin's visit the day before and whether he had left a message. Elizabeth only hoped that she could get Jane to open her door and listen to what she had to say. Her sister had locked herself in her room and had not been seen by a soul since the day before.

Elizabeth strode down the hallway, her eye fixed on Jane's bedroom door. So intent on her destination that she nearly collided with Sarah as she exited their shared sitting room, a tray of untouched food in her hands.

"Forgive me, Miss Lizzy." Sarah side-stepped to avoid Elizabeth.

Elizabeth reached out to steady Sarah. "It was my fault, Sarah." She eyed the tray of uneaten food with a frown. She sighed. "Has Jane eaten anything since yesterday?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, Miss Lizzy. I have tried to get her to open her bedroom door, but she won't." She leaned in to whisper, "Mistress has not been able to gain entry. I believe she is going to call the doctor if she doesn't emerge today."

"I will talk to her, Sarah. Please bring up a fresh pot of tea and some of Jane's favorite food in thirty minutes."

Sarah gave Elizabeth a dubious look but curtsied and continued on her way.

Elizabeth squared her shoulders and approached Jane's bedroom door, a determined glint in her eye. She knocked loudly, calling her sister's name. She pressed her ear to the door to see if she could hear her sister. Nothing. She knocked again, louder. "Jane, please. I have something very important to tell you." She waited. She leaned over, pressing her eye to the small keyhole in the door to see if she could see Jane. What if she had fallen ill? Or fainted from lack of food? Feeling frantic, she pounded on Jane's door. "Jane Bennet, you open this door immediately! I need to tell you that Colonel Fitzwilliam came to call on you yesterday while we were out shopping for the express purpose of asking you to marry him. Now, open this…."

The door to Jane's bedroom was flung open, depositing Elizabeth in an undignified and ungraceful heap at her sister's feet.

Elizabeth looked up at her sister, her eyes widening in dismay at Jane's appearance. She looked terrible, as if all the happiness and color had been drained from her face, leaving nothing but an empty husk behind. Her hair was in complete disarray, hanging in limp strands around her white and tear-stained face. She was wearing the same dress from the day before which was horribly wrinkled. The only spark of life was a glimmer of hope in Jane's blue eyes.

Elizabeth stood, and closing the door, took Jane gently by the elbow, leading her to the vanity. "Sit."

Jane stared at her sister. "What did you say about Richard?"

Elizabeth smiled, pleased to see some color return to Jane's wan cheeks. She gestured for Jane to sit. When her sister didn't respond, Elizabeth huffed. "Sit, and then I will tell you everything."

Jane complied immediately, staring at her sister as if she held the secrets of the universe.

Elizabeth picked up a brush and began running it though her sister's hair. As she brushed, she repeated what Georgiana had told her that afternoon.

Jane turned, grabbing her sister's hand. "Are you certain, Lizzy? Absolutely certain?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I am absolutely certain. Georgiana is downstairs, eager to tell you herself."

Jane's eyes shone. "He wants to marry me?"

"Of course he does, Jane. A blind man could see how he feels about you."

Jane stood and embraced her sister. "Oh, Lizzy! I feared that he had changed his mind, that he had decided that he didn't care for me." She pulled away, her face ashen. "But now he is gone. What if…what if he…."

Elizabeth grabbed her sister's hand. "Don't Jane. He will return."

Jane nodded, wiping stray tears from her cheeks. "Does Mr. Darcy know how to contact him?"

Elizabeth raised a brow, a playful smile on her face. "Why Jane, you don't mean to write him, do you?"

Jane blushed. "No, of course not. But perhaps, Mr. Darcy…?" She looked at Elizabeth expectantly.

"I am sure Fitzwilliam would be happy to contact his cousin on your behalf."

Jane squealed, grabbing her sister in another embrace. "Thank you, Lizzy! Thank you!" She pulled her sister to her wardrobe and flinging it open, said, "Now, help me get ready. I am eager to talk to Georgiana."

Elizabeth laughed and went to call the maid so that her sister could take a much-needed bath.

~oOOo~

Darcy stared at the single candle flickering in the darkness, his thoughts returning to the momentous events of the day. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a brief respite. Despite feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, he felt free, unburdened. A huge weight had been lifted today. He smiled. With a weary sigh, he forced his eyes open and heaved himself upright; his day was not yet done. He had a letter to write.

A/N: Well, there you have it. Not too bad, right? I'm sorry if I caused any undue anxiety with mentioning that Elizabeth's reaction would be anything other than what you just read. So Jane knows about Richard's intentions, and Darcy is writing his cousin. Hmmm…what'll the good Colonel do, I wonder? *grin*

Also, I feel I should reassure you that I will not be killing off Elizabeth or Darcy. There seems to be several readers who feel that is where I am headed with this story…perish the thought! I have been known to scream and throw books against the wall if I don't get a HEA. So don't freak out with the mention of forget-me-nots and "remember me." It's not because one of them is going to die. So breathe people! J

Next chapter: Lady Worthington's ball. Oh boy, I can't wait!

Please review!

Much love,MAH