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They walked into the house and she waited to see where he would go. He chose to sit in the chair, so she sat on the couch. Her heart was finally beginning to slow, but her stomach was in knots.
“I need to get something,” he said. “It's, um...it's in your room, I think. Still. I don't know. Can I go into your room?”
She frowned. “What do you need in there?”
“Just bear with me, okay?”
She nodded lightly and shrugged, and he disappeared into her bedroom. The only thing in there that belonged to him was his guitar. It stood in the corner of her room, gathering dust, but she knew it was one of his favorites. She could barely bring herself to glance at it.
In a moment he returned with what looked like two photos. “I have to say something before I show you these. I know it's going to sound contrived, or–or desperate, but...I love you, with all my heart. That hasn’t changed. What I feel for you has only grown, and being without you has only made my feelings stronger and clearer.” He swallowed heavily, and his voice trembled. “I don't know what will happen to us after you hear what I have to say, but...if you can find it in your heart to forgive me...”
He cleared his throat and handed her the first picture.
Her eyes widened when she realized who she was looking at: George Wickham. Naked. “Oh my God, what–where did you get this? Why...” Her hand flew to her mouth. “That's my room, that’s mybed. Why is he—?” She stopped speaking as understanding began to seep into her muddled mind. “Did you think...?”
Before she could finish, Will handed her another picture. She took it and gazed at it for a few seconds before lowering it to the couch. “Lydia.”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth felt the cold realization of what had happened. “You thought she was me.”
Her voice was deceptively low, hiding the shock and anger that was lingering just below the surface. He remained silent.
“Answer me, Will. You–you saw that picture that night, when you came here from the hospital. You found it somewhere and believed it was me.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you know who that is?”
“I do, yes. Unfortunately, I knowexactlywho that is.”
She frowned. “Wait, but how do you—? You’ve never met him, I’ve never introduced you.”
“His name is George Wickham.”
She nodded. “Yes. He was Charlotte's boyfriend, the one who cheated on her with Lydia. Is this what the past twelve days have been about? You thought I slept with someone else? You thought Icheatedon you?” She rose from the couch, her voice growing louder, and walked to the window to stare out at the ocean. “How could you think that? All this–this silence, for two weeks—”
“Please sit down, Lizzy. There's so much more I have to tell you.”
“I don't know if I can listen to anything else,” she said, and it happened again.These damn tears.A fresh onslaught of them spilled from her eyes.
“Just let me finish, and if you want me to go, I’ll go.”
She turned to face him. “Then finish. Tell me what you have to say.”
They both sat down again, and the pain in his deep brown eyes nearly did her in.
“George Wickham is the man who assaulted Georgiana on New Year’s Eve.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later,Elizabeth sat unmoving while Will paced restlessly. He finally sat down again, this time on the couch, and he read her expression quite easily.Keep your distance. He wanted to hold her and comfort her so desperately, it was like an ache in his bones. His arms were thrumming, vibrating with the effort it took not to reach for her and pull her into his embrace. Instead, he rose and went back to the chair.
“That's everything that–that happened,” he said. “Everything I was thinking, everything I was feeling... All of it.”
“Do you–do you really think so little of me? Do you really believe I think so little ofmyself?”
“Idon'tthink those things. I did, I know, but I realized I was wrong. I told you, I realized itbeforeI knew the full truth about those pictures, about him, before I knew what actually happened. It took me too long, and there’s no excuse for that, no excuse for why–why I doubted you. I'm disgusted with myself—”
