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“Fitzwilliam!”
I looked up and saw Georgiana tripping down the stairs as if she had never been injured.
“Georgie! What has happened?”
“Look! My limp! It is nearly gone!” She walked about in front of me and there was no limp, only a slight hesitation when she turned.
“I was doing my exercises as the physician told me to, and they were easier today. Then I did my steps, and I found I did not need my cane at all. Can you believe it?”
I stared at her dumbfounded. I could not believe it. She had been struggling with pain for months. She could only manage a few steps without her cane. The physician I had hired—the fifth one I had consulted—had said she must strengthen the muscles, and each day she had to walk so many steps, the number gradually increasing. Georgiana hated it, but we had seen improvement, so I pushed her to continue.
It has been a long, frustrating road for her—so frustrating that she begged me to go to Hertfordshire with Bingley so she might improve without an audience. I did not wish to leave her, but she was not comfortable in my presence, so I left her in the safe hands of my aunt and took myself off to Hertfordshire.
I pulled my attention back to Georgiana. She was beaming, she was so happy. In fact, one could almost say she was glowing. Suspicion nestling in my mind, I asked her, “Georgie, what else did you do today?”
“I practiced the new piece I have been learning, and Richard was here and brought Miss Bennet to call. I played and she sang, and she has the loveliest singing voice!”
She continued on, but I was stuck on one piece of information. She had seen Miss Bennet today.
I rapped on the door at number twelve harder than I should have. The butler opened it with a disdainful look.
“Yes?”
“I must see Miss Bennet.” I stepped into the vestibule, ignoring the stodgy man’s protest. “Is she home?”
“Let me see.”
He sauntered off in the direction of the parlor she and her aunt favored at the back of the house. I could wait no more. I began to follow him, but then I heard a voice I would know anywhere. Turning around, I raced up the stairs two at a time to the music room. I stopped in the open doorway and stood there transfixed.
There was Elizabeth, her hair glowing like a halo in the sunlight, a blue dress draping over her figure perfectly where she sat at the pianoforte.
“My love,” I whispered. She must have heard me, for she stopped playing and turned on the bench.
“Mr. Darcy! What are you doing here?”
I was in front of her before I thought to move. I fell to my knees and clutched her skirt, then dropped my head onto her lap, salty tears falling onto her gown.
“Thank you,” I choked out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I felt tentative fingers in my hair and then she said, “You are very welcome, Fitzwilliam.”
I wanted to sob with relief that she had said my name. A choked laugh made its way out of me. I looked up at her, certain I looked nearly mad in this state. “What do I not owe you, Elizabeth?”
She smiled tenderly. “You owe me nothing.”
“I am desperately sorry. Please forgive me. Forgive my arrogance, and my cruelty, and my utter lack of imagination. You placed your trust in me, and within minutes, I proved myself unworthy of it. Please give me another chance to show you I can be the man you need. I love you fiercely, my heart.” I took one hand in mine and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I love you with everything I am.” I kissed her palm. “Everything I have is yours.” I kissed her fingertips. “And I will protect you with my life.” I pressed a final kiss to the inside of her wrist and chanced a look up at her.
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and filled with a pain I had put there. “You hurt me, Fitzwilliam.”
“I know! It was unpardonable, and I am so, so sorry.”
“I believe you are. But what will happen the next time I tell you something you do not wish to hear? Will you insult me before even giving it proper thought?”
“No! I may frequently say the wrong thing, and I am a disaster at a party, but I can learn. And I have, Elizabeth. I will never treat you like that again. You have my respect, now and always. Even should you refuse me.”
She watched me steadily, measuring my sincerity. Finally, her expression shifted.
“Will you forgive me?” I asked again.
