The carriage hit a rut in the road, jolting her from her spiralling thoughts. She wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself. She was being foolish, running away like some gothic heroine fleeing an imaginary threat. But the alternative—staying at Pemberley and watching her husband’s real feelings emerge—seemed infinitely worse.
Better to leave now, with her dignity somewhat intact, than to remain and witness his eventual contempt.
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She would return to Longbourn, to her family, to the familiar confines of her old life. Jane would comfort her. Her father would make wry observations that might eventually make her smile. Her motherwould bemoan the lost connection to Pemberley and its ten thousand a year, but even that seemed preferable to—
The sound of approaching hoofbeats cut through her misery.
Elizabeth leaned towards the window, her heart suddenly pounding. A rider was approaching from behind, moving at considerable speed. As the figure drew closer, recognition struck her like a physical blow.
Fitzwilliam.
He rode with the same natural grace she had admired during their excursion across Pemberley's grounds, his dark coat billowing behind him, his expression intent as he urged his mount faster. Within moments, he had drawn alongside the carriage.
"Stop!" His command rang out, authoritative and urgent. "Driver, stop this carriage immediately!"
The vehicle slowed, then halted. Elizabeth's hands clenched in her lap, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She could not face him. Could not bear to see whatever lay behind his courteous mask now that Lady Catherine had forced the confrontation neither of them had wanted.
The carriage door opened. Fitzwilliam stood there, slightly breathless from his ride, his hair dishevelled by the wind. His eyes—those dark eyes that had looked at her with such apparent devotion—now held something she could not quite name.
"Elizabeth." Her name emerged rough, almost pleading. "Please. Come out of the carriage."
"I cannot."
"You can." He extended his hand towards her. "Please. I need to speak with you, and I cannot do so properly while you are attempting to flee."
"There is nothing to say." She kept her gaze fixed on her lap, unable to meet his eyes. "Lady Catherine explained everything. I understand the situation perfectly now. You need not maintain the pretence any longer."
"The only pretence here is the one my aunt created with her lies." Fitzwilliam's voice sharpened with frustration. "Elizabeth, look at me."
She could not. If she looked at him, she would break completely. "Please, just let me go. I cannot bear this.”
"Look. At. Me."
The command in his tone finally made her raise her head. What she saw in his expression stole her breath—not disgust or barely concealed resentment, but something fierce and raw and utterly genuine.
"That is better." He stepped closer to the carriage opening. "Now, will you come out, or must I climb in there and have this conversation in the most undignified manner possible?"
Despite everything, Elizabeth felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in her throat. "You would not dare."
"Try me." His mouth quirked into something that might have been a smile under different circumstances. "I have already ridden after you like some character from one of those novels you enjoy. My dignity is well past preservation at this point."
She hesitated, then accepted his offered hand. He helped her down from the carriage, his grip steady and comforting. Once she stood on solid ground, he did not release her hand.
"Why did you leave?" he asked quietly. "Without speaking to me, without allowing me to explain?"
"Because I could not bear to watch you come to resent me more with each passing day."
"Resent you?" His free hand came up to cup her cheek, gentle but insistent. “I could never resent you over a simple matter such as the authorship of letters. I care for you too much for that.”
“But Lady Catherine said—"
“My aunt lied to you. Everything she told you was designed to hurt you, to drive you away, because she has never accepted our marriage and likely never will."
"She will not be welcome at Pemberley unless she apologises to you for her lies and her hostility,” he continued in a firm tone. “I will not have anyone—family or otherwise—treating my wife with such disrespect."
Elizabeth felt fresh tears prick at her eyes, though these were different from the ones she had shed earlier. "You defended me? To Lady Catherine?"
"Of course I defended you. You are my wife. More than that, you are the woman I love." He moved closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the cool afternoon air. “If anything, what made me angry was not your involvement with the letters, but her cruelty towards you."
