Either way, she wanted to be around him. She moved through the corridors, her mind made up at last.
Chapter Seventeen
Elizabeth
Elizabeth found Fitzwilliam in the small study Lord Matlock had designated for his use during their stay. It was a comfortable room lined with books, dominated by a substantial desk covered with papers. He stood behind that desk, one hand resting on its polished surface, his attention fixed on whatever document lay before him.
She paused in the doorway, suddenly uncertain. The impulse that had carried her through corridors and down staircases now faltered in the face of actually interrupting him. What would she say? How could she articulate the complicated tangle of feelings that had propelled her search without sounding foolish or presumptuous?
But then he looked up, and the mixture of surprise and pleasure in his gaze steadied her wavering courage.
“Elizabeth. Is everything well?”
“Quite well.” She stepped into the room properly. “I hope I am not disturbing your work?”
Concern flickered across his face. “Not at all. I was merely reviewing some correspondence that required attention. Do you need something?”
Yes, she thought. I needed to see you. But she could not say any of that. Not when her own feelings remained so newly acknowledged.
“My family has been debating their departure from Matlock,” she said instead, choosing the practical topic as an entry into extended conversation. “Mama wishes to remain another week. Papa insists on leaving in two days. They have been discussing it with considerable vigour, as you might imagine.”
A guarded, wary look shifted in his expression. “I see. And when would you prefer to leave?”
“I am not leaving.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am not leaving with my family.” She repeated. “They may settle their dispute however they choose and depart whenever they determine. But I intend to remain here at Matlock. With you.”
“You wish to remain?” His voice had dropped lower, more intimate.
“I do.” She moved closer to thedesk. “I should like to stay here until you depart for Pemberley. And when you go, I shall come with you. I am looking forward to our married life together and whatever our future holds. I wanted you to know that.”
Fitzwilliam circled the desk and stopped an arm’s length away, close enough that she could see the pulse beating at his throat. “What changed?”
“Changed?”
“Your mind. During the journey from Ireland, you were so distant. So stoic in your manner towards me. I believed…” He stopped, seeming to wrestle with the admission. “I believed you regretted our marriage. That you had come to see it as the trap it must have seemed when you first made that impulsive declaration.”
“I never regretted the marriage itself,” she said, needing him to understand this fundamental truth.
“Then what? What did I do to make you withdraw?”
She had not expected this conversation, nor anticipated his vulnerability and evident confusion over her behaviour. The truth balanced on her tongue, tasting of risk and exposure.
“It was not regret. It was fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“Of losing myself. When you invited my family to Matlock without consulting me or asking my preference, I felt like my life had ceased to belong to me. As if marriage meant surrendering all choice in my own existence.”
Fitzwilliam’s face paled. “Elizabeth…”
“I was raised with considerable independence,” she continued, needing to complete the explanation before his response could distract her. “Papa allowed me to read what I chose and speak my mind freely. I never imagined marriage as absorption into another person’s life without consultation or consideration. But when you announced we would travel to Matlock and made that decision alone—”
“I made you feel powerless,” he finished, the words emerging flat with comprehension.
“Yes.” Relief at being understood warred with guilt at causing him such evident distress. “I feared that pattern would continue. That every decision from that moment forward would be yours to make, mine only to accept. And I would spend the rest of my life following where you led without question or input.”
