“I insulted your character.”
“I said I loved you despite my better judgment.”
She could do better than that. “And I professed that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”
“I called you barely tolerable in your hearing when I found you very attractive, indeed. It was a boldfaced lie.”
Elizabeth’s humor stopped her tongue before she attempted to best Fitzwilliam’s offenses against her. “Are we really willing to waste such a perfect night competing over who insulted whom the worst?”
His lips twitched. “We can both agree I deserve that prize.”
She laughed. “I shall not admit defeat so easily.”
“I deserved everything you said to me. I was haughty and condescending and so certain of a favorable reply, I gave no considerationto how my words must have made you feel. For that, I am truly sorry. Not a day goes by that I do not regret it.”
“As do I. We are even.”
“You forgive me?”
“Fully. Can you forgive me?”
His shoulders relaxed. “I already did. Months ago.”
The remorse Elizabeth had been clinging on to for months lifted from her, a wonderful, welcome release.
Their silence did not last long. They had too much to discuss. Elizabeth told him everything she knew had transpired since his disappearance. In turn, Fitzwilliam regaled her with an entertaining account of his time aboard the ship. She teasingly accused him of embellishing certain details, which they both knew he would never do. He asked what it was like to grow up with so many sisters, and he rewarded her with stories of him and his cousins making mischief at Pemberley.
They talked and laughed like trusted friends for hours, enveloped with a blanket of stars sparkling off the glassy ocean surface.
CHAPTER 20
Richard rode carefully through Bloomsbury. One never knew what to expect in this part of town. Like a gentleman fallen on hard times, Bloomsbury kept up appearances until you noticed its frayed collar and threadbare coat. Grand houses with broken windows stuffed with paper, flagstones grimy with age or neglect. Even the residences scrubbed clean gave a shabby appearance.
Foundling hospitals where displaced and deserted children alike were given an education and a bed, boarding houses run by (mostly) respectable women, and parks dotted both sides of the lane. Richard rode past doctors and lawyers, men who worked too much to spend their spare time making their residences more comfortable.
He reached Bedford Square, the current residence of Mrs. Finchley his father’s network of informantshad discovered. Richard had been delighted that his interview with her would not require him to travel more than a few miles east.
Leaving his horse with his groom, he walked up to the terraced house of black brick. The glass in the fanlight above the painted door was still intact, the cast iron railing above it polished to a dull sheen.
An elderly servant saw him into the drawing room on the second floor, the one most people reserved for family and close friends. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, and an old woman stood between the flames and a worn, velvet chair. Her hand shook on top of her cane. Had she stood erect, Richard measured she would nearly reach his height. Her face was round, her hair tidy, and her eyes alert. This was a woman who inspired comfort and confidence, and who never overlooked a detail. She would have been a formidable employer in her prime.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she greeted, nodding to the chair opposite hers. “I received your card and message earlier this morning, and I must say that I am intrigued. Please, have a seat. The tea shall be here shortly. I hope you brought an appetite. I do not often have occasion to entertain guests, so I must take advantage of the opportunities that fall into my lap.” Her voice was soft, melodic. He could imagine her singing lullabies to sleepy babies.
He crossed over to her side, holding her elbow and easing her down into her chair. “I thank you forreceiving me so kindly and on such short notice, Mrs. Finchley.”
She smiled up at him. “You are hardly a stranger. Lady Anne and Lady Catherine trusted me in their most delicate moments, and if there is anything I can do to be of assistance to their relations, I am glad to help.”
The tea tray came in then and, true to her word, it was stacked with sandwiches, cold cuts, cheese, and several pastries. He must have looked surprised, for she explained, “I am always prepared for company. What I am unable to eat normally goes to the children at the foundling hospital.”
Urged on by her encouraging looks and brimming generosity, Richard piled his plate, making certain to leave plenty for the orphans.
Mrs. Finchley poured a second round of tea. “I am eager to hear the reason for your call, Colonel. I recall the Darcys with fondness, but I have not seen nor heard of the family in close to thirty years.”
Finishing off his tea, Richard leaned forward in his chair. “What can you tell me about the night my cousin Darcy was born? Twenty-eight years ago at Pemberley?”
She balked. “A most irregular question, indeed!”
Richard nodded. “I am aware of the awkwardness of my inquiry, Mrs. Finchley. Childbirth is not a subject of which a lady speaks freelyto anyone, much less to an unmarried gentleman. However, I assure you it is necessary.”
