Elizabeth's breath halted momentarily.
"I do not believe in random acts of fate," he continued, moving to stand beside her chair. "But I do believe that not all questions are meant to be answered. Whoever wrote these letters—whether it was Miss Rochford with assistance, or someone else entirely—they led me to you. That is what matters."
"But the deception—"
"What deception?" His voice was gentle as he reached over and took her hand, his touch encompassing and steady. "I received letters that aided me during a difficult time. Those letters eventually led me to my wife. I’m content to live as a married man, and I see no reason to complicate that simple sequence of events by demanding to know every detail of how it came to pass."
Elizabeth looked up at him, her vision blurred with unshed tears. He was unknowingly providing her with an escape, a way to keep the secret buried. Part of her wanted to seize that offer, to let the deception remain hidden and simply move forward.
But another part—the part that valued honesty, that had been raised to believe truth mattered—recoiled at the idea of building their marriage on such a foundation.
“Now, shall we continue with these letters?” he said, releasing her hand as he turned his attention back to the tenant correspondence. “The Dunns are requesting financial help to expand their barn, and I value your thoughts on whether the location they propose might interfere with the drainage improvements that have been made."
Elizabeth tried to focus on the matter at hand and tried to engage with the question of barn placement and watermanagement. But her mind kept returning to those letters locked in the drawer.
The truth of the matter was, she wasn’t ready to potentially shake the bond they had built thus far. He had chosen contentment over the pursuit of an unknown question. She couldn’t violate that in the name of honesty.
Moreover, she wasn’t prepared to face the fallout that might emerge from her answering that question. And so she remained quiet, talking about everything else but the subject that stirred a persistent ache in her heart.
Chapter Nineteen
The next day
Something was wrong.
Elizabeth noticed it the moment she entered the breakfast room—the particular quality of silence that surrounded Fitzwilliam as he sat at the table, his newspaper folded beside his untouched plate. His posture remained correct, and his expression was composed, but she had learned to read the subtle signs of his distress. The tightness around his mouth and the way his fingers rested too still against the table's edge.
"Good morning," she said, taking her seat across from him.
He looked up with what appeared to be effort. "Good morning, Elizabeth. I trust you slept well?"
"Very well, thank you." She accepted tea from a maid and waited until they were alone before continuing. "Is something troubling you? You seem preoccupied."
"I am quite well." The words came too quickly, accompanied by a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Merely thinking through some estate matters that require attention today."
She did not believe him, but she recognised the deflection for what it was—a polite request not to press further. Still, she could not simply let it pass. "What sort of estate matters?"
"Nothing of consequence." He reached for his coffee, but he made no move to drink it. "Routine business, really. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
The dismissal stung, though Elizabeth suspected it was not meant as such. He was protecting her from something, shielding her from whatever burden he carried. Noble, perhaps, but also frustrating. They were meant to be partners, were they not?
She tried again, keeping her tone light. "The weather looks favourable today. Perhaps we might take a walk through the grounds later?"
"Perhaps. I may be occupied for much of the day. I have some affairs to attend to—matters I have been putting off that can no longer be delayed."
"Of course. If there is anything I might—"
"Thank you, but it is nothing that requires your involvement." The words emerged more sharply than he likely intended. He seemed to catch himself, his expression softening with visible effort. "Forgive me. I am poor company this morning."
They continued breakfast with stilted conversation—comments about the weather, and brief exchanges about household matters. He made attempts to engage, asking about her plans for the day, mentioning some book he thought she might enjoy from the library, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. After a couple of minutes, he set down his napkin with barely concealed restlessness.
"If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to before I must depart. I may be away for most of the afternoon."
"Certainly." She watched him leave, concern knotting in her chest. Something was definitely wrong, and his determination to bear it alone only made her more uneasy.
After he departed, she remained at the table for several minutes, trying to make sense of his behaviour. The distance, the withdrawal—it was so unlike the easy companionship they had developed these past weeks. What could possibly have changed overnight?
Mrs Reynolds appeared in the doorway as Elizabeth was preparing to leave. "Mrs Darcy, if I might have a word?"
