Then a thought struck her with great clarity. Words alone were insufficient, she could see that now. He had been presentedwith damning evidence in the form of Annabelle’s response letter, the one Lady Catherine had intercepted. Without context, without seeing what had prompted Elizabeth’s compassion, how could he possibly understand?
“Wait,” she said, urgency flooding through her. “There is something more convincing than merely my words.”
She fled down the corridor to her chambers, retrieving Annabelle’s first letter from the drawer where she had stored it. The pages felt fragile in her grasp as she hurried back to the study.
She knelt by the door and slide the pages through the gap beneath it. “This is the letter I received from Annabelle. The one I responded to. Please, read it and see what I saw. See the desperation that drove my response.”
She heard movement on the other side, the rustle of paper being picked up. Elizabeth waited, scarcely daring to breathe. Minutes passed and her anxiety rose within her.
Would it help or would it only confirm that she was dangerously naive?
Just as she began to fret, she heard the lock turning.
The door opened. Fitzwilliam stood in the threshold, his appearance dishevelled from sleeplessness, his eyes red-rimmed but clear.
And he was smiling. There was no expression of uncertainty she had feared, only pure relief that transformed his entire countenance.
He held both letters in his hands, Annabelle’s original plea and her subsequent response that Lady Catherine had intercepted. Understanding was beginning to dawn in his features.
“These are very different letters. And they corroborate all that you’ve said. Lady Catherine showed me only her reply to you, which, without this context, seemed damning. But reading what prompted your response...I can see why you felt compelled to answer.”
Hope surged within her in rising intensity. “Fitzwilliam…”
Darcy wetted his lips, aware what his next words had to be. “I should have asked you directly.” He held out his hand to her, the simple contact after hours of separation feeling precious. “I should have given you an opportunity to explain rather than allowing Lady Catherine to poison my thoughts. I forgive you. More than that, I recognise there is nothing requiring forgiveness save my own stubborn refusal to ask for explanation rather than assuming the worst.”
“But I should have told you immediately when the letter arrived…”
His thumbs traced circles along her palms. “Perhaps. But I should have trusted you enough to seek clarification before condemning you based on incomplete information. I am relieved beyond measure to know you never betrayed me. Your actions stemmed from the very compassion I claim to value, directed towards someone whose suffering merited sympathy in spite of her earlier wrongs.”
“I love you.” He continued, his smile widening. “I love your impossible kindness and your stubborn honesty. You are exactly who I need, Elizabeth. Exactly who I want to spend my life with.”
He kissed her then, deep and thorough and full of the emotion that had been building through their separation. Elizabeth’s hands rose to frame his face with tenderness, to tangle in hair that needed trimming and pull him closer.
The kiss deepened with urgent need, with relief so profound it felt physical and love that had survived doubt and emerged stronger for having been tested. Fitzwilliam’s arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her against him with a force that lifted her slightly off her feet. She clung to him with equal desperation, pouring everything into the contact. All the apology she could not say aloud, and the love she was no longer afraid to mean.
Enthusiastic applause erupted from somewhere down the corridor.
They broke apart, startled to discover her husband’s entire relations gathered at a polite distance. Lord and Lady Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam, the viscount and Georgiana, all beamed with satisfaction. Lady Catherine stood slightly apart, her expression complicated but not disapproving.
“We were concerned,” Lord Matlock explained with no shame at having obviously eavesdropped. “When Elizabeth went to speak with you, we thought perhaps moral support might prove necessary.”
“Moral support,” Fitzwilliam repeated dryly. “Is that what we are calling blatant eavesdropping now?”
His uncle’s grin suggested he regretted nothing. “Given the satisfactory resolution, I fail to see cause for complaint.”
Lady Catherine stepped forward, her movements stiff with visible discomfort. She fixed Elizabeth with a look that seemed oddly like respect beneath its habitual severity.
The older woman clutched her skirt’s fabric between her fingers, her knuckles popping white. “I owe you an apology, Mrs Darcy. I misjudged your character and your intentions. I allowed my own prejudices to colour my interpretation of ambiguous evidence. That was... wrong of me.”
Every family member stared at Lady Catherine with expressions ranging from shock to outright disbelief.
“What?” Her tone turned defensive beneath their collective scrutiny.
Lord Matlock recovered first, his voice carrying wonder. “This is the first time in my adult years that I have ever heard you apologise to anyone, Catherine.”
“Well, do not expect this to be a regular occurrence.” Lady Catherine sniffed, then turned and swept from the corridor with as much grace as hasty retreat allowed.
“I will note that she did not apologise for the manner in which she obtained the letters,” Lord Matlock said.
