“Maybe ... I don’t know ... it’s in the past.”
“It’s never too late.”
“Whatever she said, she was just looking for a scapegoat so as not to lose your respect.”
“You’re wrong. Go to her. It will be different now.”
“You should rest, Mom. Dredging up the past is too stressful on you.”
“No, William. I have to say it. When I’m gone, put aside your sorrow and damn Darcy pride and ... go to Paris where she is free from everyone’s influence. Her sister was at the heart of this.” She raised her hand, cradling his cheek with her cold palm, followed by a deep inhale. “Share your heart, my dear ... son. It’s such a beautiful heart not to share with the woman you still love. I promise you, Lizzy will hold it in her hands and never misplace it again.”
A tear rolled down his cheek onto her hand. “You’re not going anywhere, Mom.”
“Yes, I am, but I still want Fitzwilliam grandbabies,” she tried to say lightly.
He chuckled through his ache. There was a time when he wanted Lizzy to be the mother of his children, but now all he cared about was his mother.
“And ... (let out ragged breath) go back to painting. You’re ... so talented,” she whispered. “It’s your expression. It’s where you are happiest.”
Torn between clinging to her last bits of motherly advice and his unwillingness to talk about Lizzy or painting, he shook his head again. “Okay, if I find something worthy to paint, I’ll paint it. And if I ever run into Lizzy again, I promise to listen to what she has to say.”
She smiled; that Fitzwilliam sparkle and fighter in her touched her eyes. “You mean, when you run into her in Paris?”
“Sure. Paris.”
Life being the shit storm that it was at the time, his mother died three days later, and his grief came with an overwhelming transference of sorrow over losing Lizzy piled onto the heart-wrenching loss of his mother. They were the two people in the world who had loved him for him and despite himself, and the only ones he loved more than any other in the world. But, if it hadn’t been for Caroline, Pemberley Capital, and his hatred of Jane Bennet, he might not have steered clear of the booze.
Over the years, he had carefully managed the memories of those final weeks and months following his mother’s passing. Only in his most vulnerable times did they emerge from the safety deposit box deep in his mind ... until now.
Lizzy rested her head on his chest, drawing circles along his abdomen. They’d just made love and, as was their afterglow practice, she whispered in the dark. “I ... I can’t do this anymore, William.”
He thought she meant sex. “Why? Do I hurt you?”
“No, not that. You know how I love our intimacy. It never hurts—it heals.” She kissed his chest, then sat up on an elbow. Biting her lip, she gazed at him. He could see the unusual distress across her face and how she held back something important.
“What can’t you do, babe? Is it something we can tackle together to make it easier?”
She shook her head, eyes welling with tears. “These past nine months have been the best of my life.”
“Mine, too.” He leaned on an elbow and ran his free hand through her long locks. “I love you, Lizzy.”
She took a deep breath. Her lip trembled. “I love you, too but ...”
“But, what?”
“Next month I’ll be leaving for Les Beaux-Arts de Paris and—”
“You got accepted! Yes!! I’m so proud of you!” He tightly hugged her.
“You don’t understand. I have to leave without you.”
“What? You’re okay with a long-distance relationship?”
“It just won’t work. Your life is making money for your family company ... in New York. Pemberley Capital consumes you, and I understand, but, but ... it’ll always be number one in your life, no matter where I am.”
“That’s not true.Youare number one—always.”
She sat up. “No. I’m not, and I have my own dreams to pursue ... on my own. It’s over between us.”
