“Yes, but Anne has… well—”
She looked at him encouragingly.
“This experience has changed Anne as much as it has changed me. Richard and I have been trying to get her to break out of her self-imposed exile for years, but well… forcing her always seemed a bad idea. She met Jane, and something… well… something fit. They make each other braver. I will not pretend to understand, but since my entire responsibility consists of having enough sense to stay out of their way, I believe I can manage it.”
The lady laughed and let the subject go. She probablyshouldfeel a stab of jealousy at being so easily replaced in Jane’s affections, but the very idea was anathema.
An hour after leaving Pemberley, they arrived. “Here we are, my lady.”
Orchard
Elizabeth found herself in a place that was nothing short of a wonderland.
They stood in an orchard of apple, cherry, and peach trees, many in wonderful bloom. The flowers were far more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. Longbourn lacked fruit trees, so she had not grown up with them. Blooms had fallen to the ground, leaving a carpet through the soft grass. The trees were of different shapes and sizes, the blossoms of alternating colours, and it was quite the most beautiful sight she could recall. The scents of the blossoms and grass only added to her feeling of wonder and contentment.
“This was my mother’s favourite spot on the estate. In fact, my father kept a man dedicated to this orchard for most of his life.”
Elizabeth looked around in wonder. Leaving Fitzwilliam to his own devices, she ran like a little girl from tree to tree, examining every aspect from every direction. Her bonnet annoyed her, so she pulled it off without a thought for propriety and threw it carelessly on the ground. Stewart would make her take another the next day anyway.
Fitzwilliam watched in wonder, wondering if he should join her. It shamed him to admit that both Richard and Bingley had provided much better examples of a good way to live; yet he had preferred his own counsel, though in truth that amounted to punishment himself for his own crimes.
“Come join me. Do you plan to instruct our children in how to play properly with Fordyce?”
There it was!Elizabeth stopped abruptly, almost shocked the words had left her mouth, wondering exactly what she had done.
Fitzwilliam, seeing her consternation, did the only thing a sensible man could. He took off his hat, let out a loud whoop that scared a group of birds into confused flight, threw his hat up to catch in the crook of an apple tree, and ran. He shed his greatcoat and threw it on the ground, sprinted across the orchard, and picked Elizabeth up to spin her around and around.
Within a few seconds, both were laughing and crying at once, and it was some minutes before he was willing to release her. Even then, he demanded a kiss that would have killed a lesser man before allowing her freedom.
He pulled her towards a bench which bore an engraving:
For Anne, who loved this garden, from George, who always sat beside her.
Elizabeth stared at the message. “Some people do spend their whole lives together.”
“Yes, they do. My mother was my father’s entire life. When she died, he… well, he just stopped living.”
He recounted a short conversation he had with his father near the end of his life. It was almost as if both could see the same man before them, such was the power of his words.
Do not fret. I see your thoughts—that I am not strong enough to bear it—that I am somehow weak because I cannot live without my Anne. I hope you one day meet the woman who makes you understand, will show you that life with your one true love is worth any price, worth any pain, worth anything.
Do not worry about me, my son. I will make you a bargain. I will keep myself going long enough for you to attain your manhood, if you will promise me that when you see the woman who makes your heart sing, you will snatch her up.
Elizabeth was crying by the end of it, while Fitzwilliam was pensive.
“I did not live up to my end of the bargain.”
She reached up and cupped his cheek with her palm. “The negotiation is not over yet. Do not give up so easily.”
He sniffed but did not disagree. Instead, he said, “It was all untrue anyway. When he died, the physician said that cancer had been eating the man alive for months, perhaps years. He would not have survived, with or without my mother.”
“You do not know that. Perhaps the disease had it in for him. Perhaps his loneliness prevented him from fighting the demon when it came, or perhaps nobody is strong enough. It is not for us to spend our lives questioning fate.”
Fitzwilliam looked at her carefully, raised one eyebrow, and asked, “Our lives?”
Realising what she had said, Elizabeth pulled off her pelisse, put it on the bench that was still wet with dew, and said, “Sit, please, Fitzwilliam.”
He complied, and she slowly, deliberately sat on his lap and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
