“True,” she said, and she liked beinghisElizabeth.
His hand went soothingly up and down her back. “We shouldn’t be this way, obviously, so close.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh.
“It is only that I had a thought recently about how little it is that we are afforded the chance to touch other humans, especially as we get older. There is something about touch, I think, something good.”
“Something quite good,” she said.
“Just… take this as comfort,” he murmured.
She sighed, shutting her eyes, cheek to his chest, feeling the warmth and firmness of him, noticing the way he smelled, and liking it. She must have noticed his smell before, of course, at least subconsciously. That was the only reason to feel as if his scent was entirely familiar, the most safe and sweet of scents, like coming home. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
“You might call me Fitzwilliam,” he said.
Her heart leaped. “Just amiably, I suppose.”
“Is it confusing, since it’s also your last name?” he mused. “You could shorten in it some way, perhaps.”
“Fitz?” she said.
He laughed. “As long as it’s not Fitzie.”
She laughed. “I am called Lizzy.”
“I’ve heard that.” There was a gentleness to his tone.
“I don’t mind it, I suppose,” she said. “But I shan’t add any ‘ee’ sounds to your name, or to your nicknames, not if you don’t like it.”
“It is perhaps less about the name and more about the fact that Wickham started it, I suppose,” said Darcy, sighing. “But letus not speak of him, not in this moment.” His grasp tightened on her.
She had her eyes closed, and she was wrapped up in Mr. Darcy, in his scent and his arms and with his very male hands on her, and nothing, not even the mention of Wickham could seem to penetrate the circle of safety she was in now. She only hummed her agreement. “Thank you, Fitz,” she murmured. “For this comfort.”
“You have been through so much, my Lizzy,” he said, his nose in her hair. “You have been through more than a woman should have to face in two lifetimes.”
She did not dispute this, because it felt that way to her as well, but she felt she should have, should have said it was not that much or that she was handling everything fine, and besides, she had just discovered she was the legitimate daughter of a duke, hadn’t she?
Yes, but they had no interest in acknowledging her as such, did they?
However, she supposed she would be foolish not to take the money that the duchess wished to settle on her. She would take it, then, since she and her husband needed something to live on.
She wondered how Neithern was feeling. She well knew the way it felt to have the blow of illegitimacy dropped like a piano on one’s head, the feeling of not being whoever it was one thought one had always been. He must be quite out of sorts.
She burrowed into Mr. Darcy, feeling sorry for poor Neithern and feeling grateful for him.
“I think, Lizzy, we should keep this to ourselves,” whispered Mr. Darcy. “Richard wouldn’t understand it, and it might hurt him, and it hasn’t meant anything, not truly, so I think there is no reason to mention it.”
“No reason at all,” she agreed, and then she yawned. She tried to imagine Richard holding her like this, no attempt tokiss her or explore her body, just giving her comfort when she needed it, and she couldn’t quite do it. This made her feel a sour feeling, but the warm circle of Mr. Darcy’s arms pushed away all sourness, and it flitted off into the darkness outside.
She yawned again.
“I should leave,” said Mr. Darcy, his voice a dark rumble as he stroked her back softly. “You would like to call for your maid to get you ready for bed, no doubt.”
“Not yet,” she breathed into his chest.
“Not yet,” he agreed. “Soon, though.”
But he didn’t go, and she fell asleep tucked up against his warmth.
