"I should have told you sooner," She managed, her throat tight with emotion. "I wanted to, so many times. But I was afraid—"
"I know." His forehead came to rest against hers, his breath brushing against her skin. Then he pulled back slightly, ensuring she could see his eyes. "But I need you to understand something, Elizabeth. I would love you regardless of any secret, regardless of what my aunt or anyone else might say. What we have built together these past weeks—the conversations, the companionship, the growing affection—all of that is real and worthy of being protected.”
Her tears flowed freely now, but they were tears of relief rather than despair. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. I was foolish to have let Lady Catherine get in my head regarding your true feelings.”
Her husband smiled. “Just so you never make the same mistake, let me show you my true feelings now." He leaned in and kissed her—a deep and urgent kiss that spoke of fear nearly realised and relief at disaster averted.
When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, he rested his forehead against hers once more. "Those are my true feelings, Elizabeth. Not disgust, resentment or barely contained fury waiting to emerge. Just love. Overwhelming love."
She let out a shaky laugh, her hands coming up to grip his lapels as though afraid he might disappear if she let go. "I love you too. I think I have been falling in love with you since that day in the library when we argued about Milton and you actually listened to my opinions instead of dismissing them."
"I could never dismiss you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. "Youare too brilliant, too vibrant, too absolutely yourself to ever be dismissed."
They stood there in the middle of the road, the carriage waiting patiently behind them, the afternoon sun beginning its descent towards the horizon. Eventually, Fitzwilliam pulled back enough to meet her gaze directly.
"Will you come home now? Back to Pemberley, where you belong?"
Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak past the emotion clogging her throat. She had left believing herself unwanted, unloved, trapped in a marriage that would slowly suffocate them both. She was returning with the knowledge that she was cherished, valued and loved by a man who had chosen her constantly.
Fitzwilliam helped her back into the carriage, then mounted his horse to ride alongside as they made their way back to Pemberley. Through the window, Elizabeth watched him—the strong line of his profile, the confident way he sat his mount, the occasional glances he sent in her direction as though reassuring himself she was truly there.
Her husband. The man she loved. The man who, against all odds and despite every obstacle placed in their path, loved her in return.
As Pemberley came back into view, its honey-coloured stone glowing in the late afternoon light, Elizabeth felt something settle in her chest. Not just relief or happiness, but a deeper sense of rightness. Of belonging.
This was home. Not because of the grand rooms or the beautiful grounds, but because this was where Fitzwilliam was. Where their life together would unfold.
Whatever challenges lay ahead—and she knew there would be many—they would face them together. As partners. As husband and wife.
As two people who had chosen love despite every reason not to.
Epilogue
Several months later
"Ibelieve," Elizabeth said, laying down her final card, "that makes two consecutive victories for me."
Georgiana groaned, tossing her own cards onto the table in good-natured defeat. "You are entirely too skilled at loo for someone who claims to have learned the game only recently. I suspect you have been practising in secret."
"Or perhaps," Fitzwilliam observed dryly from his position across the card table, "my sister and I are simply abysmal players who make your victories appear more impressive than they truly are."
Elizabeth laughed, gathering the cards for the next round. "Your attempt to diminish my achievement through false modesty will not work, husband. I won fairly, and I intend to savour my triumph."
The drawing room at Pemberley glowed with the warmth of late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth despite the mildness of the spring weather, and the tea service sat abandoned on a side table, its contents long since grown cold. It was precisely the sort of domestic scene Elizabeth had once thought improbable—herself, comfortable and at ease, playing cards with her husband and his sister as though they had been family for years rather than months.
Georgiana had returned from Ireland three weeks earlier, full of stories about her time abroad and glowing with a potent happiness. Elizabeth had been pleased to meet her sister-in-law, and a quick, easy bond had grown between them.
"Tell us more about that gentleman of yours," Elizabeth ventured as she dealt a new set of cards. "Whom you met in Dublin."
Pink coloured Georgiana's cheeks, but she did not look away. "Lord Greville. He is the second son of the Earl of Aylesford. Very kind, rather bookish, absolutely terrible at dancing." Her smile turned soft. "I quite like him."
"He has written to request permission to call upon Georgiana here at Pemberley," Fitzwilliam added. "I am considering the matter."
"You are being overprotective, you mean," Georgiana corrected with the ease of long familiarity. "Lord Greville is perfectly respectable, comes from an excellent family, and has already been thoroughly investigated by Colonel Fitzwilliam, who found nothing objectionable in his character or circumstances."
"Richard is too lenient,” Fitzwilliam muttered.
"Richard is sensible," Georgiana countered. "Unlike certain older brothers who seem to believe their sisters should remain locked away in drawing rooms until they are thirty. Elizabeth’s sisters are all in courtships now, are they not? And they are all near my age."
