Iperchedontheedge of the hard oak chair, painfully aware of both sets of penetrating eyes fixed upon me from across the scarred table. Fitzwilliam’s gaze reminded me of his father’s—keen and assessing beneath a formidable stillness. His dark eyes held pools of feeling, mostly kept in vicious check. But George’s... his vivid blue eyes still danced as of old, crinkling at the corners with irrepressible humor that seven years had not diminished.
My heart performed a complicated series of flips behind my ribs. To be with them again was rapture and torture mingled. I had yearned for this reunion, whispered imagined conversations to their phantom ears through endless lonely nights. And yet... the promises wrung from me by Uncle Gardiner curdled in my throat. I should not have come to town, where I could chance letting this happen. Should not shatter the fragile peace built over years of forced separation. Whatever mysteries and injustices carved the jagged rift that divided us, I owed too much to the Gardiners and the Bennets now to reopen old wounds.
George leaned nearer. “We asked about you for months. Waited for word. Why did you never write to us?”
Did he think I had deserted them voluntarily? Before the old ache could sharpen into fresh resentment, his hand covered mine. “We were wild to find you, Lizzy, once we knew you had gone.”
I studied our joined hands, overcome with memories. “I wrote,” I whispered finally, daring to meet his earnest gaze. “For two years, I wrote letters.”
Fitzwilliam straightened abruptly. George’s startled glance flashed to his brother’s grim face. “You wrote... yet we never received...” Confusion creased his brow.
I nodded. “At first, your replies would come. Oh, how I cherished those brief notes in George’s untidy scrawl!” The old wound bled as I voiced it aloud. “But after six months... nothing. I kept writing but received only silence.”
Utter incomprehension washed over George’s features. “I never wrote a single line! Upon my honor, Lizzy, I’ve no notion what letters you refer to. Had I known your direction, wild horses could not have kept me from replying.”
I swayed where I sat, the carpet seeming to shift under my feet. “But... the letters I received were signed by your hand. I would swear to it!” I glanced desperately between the two brothers, willing one of them to produce some rational explanation for this dizzying bewilderment.
Fitzwilliam’s mouth had drawn into an implacable line, his eyes frozen shards of flint. “Father,” he bit out. Suchweightof accusation and injury in that single word!
My own chaotic emotions stilled abruptly at this pronouncement. Of course... what other answer could there be? “Do you mean that he not only copied George’s…” I broke off with an apologetic smile. “…meanderingthoughts, but his haphazard penmanship? Impossible!”
“I do not doubt it,” Fitzwilliam sighed. “He might have felt it helped ease your transition to your new family. At first. Then, he probably discontinued for whatever that same purpose was that he sent you away.”
I gaped at them. They truly did not know more than I? Well, where was Father? Could I not ask…?Oh.
Ice formed around my heart as the great unspoken words hung between us. And the way they were suddenly looking at the table, their hands—anything but me… “Then...your father... Is he...?” I could not force the words past stiff lips.
Fitzwilliam’s severe expression softened. He reached across the table hesitantly to cover my spasming fingers with his own. “Yes. Our father has been gone these five years past.” His tone held gentle regret at being the bearer of such news.
A cry tore from my throat as I clapped my hand over my mouth too late. Tears scalded my eyes.Dead!Now, there could be no chance of reconciliation or explanation from his own lips. I grieved the finality of doors closed and questions that must remain unspoken.
Dimly, I heard George’s anxious queries about whether I was quite well and needed assistance. But Fitzwilliam’s steady fingers lacing through mine kept me anchored as I mastered the storm inside. At length, I lifted my head from the handkerchief he had pressed into my hands to find his eyes waiting. Such compassion and solidarity of spirit shone behind the somber gravity of his features. He gave my hand a slight squeeze.
“He spoke of you at the end, Lizzy. His mind grew... confused, but he asked for forgiveness again and again. For what, I do not know. He never would say.”
A fresh tear tracked down my cheek despite myself. Had even grim deathbed remorse not compelled Mr. Darcy to break his baffling silence regarding my lost connection to his family? What was so shameful about me? I would never know. Yet Fitzwilliam’s steadying grip kept me tethered to firm ground, instead of permitting me to spiral. However little sense his vague words made, they reassured me I had not slipped wholly from the heart of the man I loved as dearly as any father.
Just then, a flash of blue through the window caught my eye as a gentleman crossed the street and reached the door—of average height, with pleasant features swiftly creasing into a smile as he glanced through the window. His searching gaze roved the occupied tables of the inn before alighting on our little tableau.
“Ah, Darcy, George—there you are!” He strode toward us, nodding affably to us as the taproom door swung wide. Then his eyes drifted to me. “And Miss...?”
“Bennet. Elizabeth Bennet,” I supplied, noting with some perverse pleasure the way Fitzwilliam and George flinched at my new surname.
He removed his hat. “A pleasure. I trust your sister is…” His friendly address turned suddenly uncertain, brows lifting when footsteps on the stair gave us both pause.
Jane had just appeared on the steps, a noticeable flush rising prettily in her cheeks as she saw who awaited below. Even across the distance, the admiration kindled a telling glow in the gentleman’s fixed stare that could not be mistaken as their gazes caught and held for a long moment.
Oh, this was too much. Bad enough that I broke my promise to Uncle Gardiner—accidentally or not—and had my heart shattered with the intelligence of Mr. Darcy’s passing. Now Jane had to go and fall in love with their friend at first glance.
I scrambled to my feet. “Jane. There you are. Are you ready, then? Aunt will be wondering where we’ve got to.”
“Wait!” George cried, catching my hand. “You’ve not told us where you are staying. Why are you back in Derbyshire, and for how long?”
I felt the weight of Jane’s stare, but I could not very well lie to them, could I? Now that they knew I was here, my presence could not be kept a secret. “At Farthingdale. Aunt Gardiner’s sister is Mrs. Westing, and she… had need of some help for a few months. But now we must return, for Mrs. Westing is no doubt looking for her fresh cheeses and ham.”
George took both my hands now. “You must come to Pemberley, Lizzy—soon as may be. Let us not lose each other again as soon as we have found you. Bring Miss Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner too! What joy to have you close once more!”
His unchecked enthusiasm wrenched my heart even as it warmed me. I opened my mouth, not knowing what promise or refusal lay ready.
