“Good night, Richard.”
“Good night, Darcy. And—” Richard added, with a small, genuine smile, “I am glad you will be here for my wedding, too.”
Then the two men parted—each to his own room, to take what rest they could before the morning that would change everything.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth woke with a sharp gasp.
The remnants of the dream clung to her—disjointed, slipping away even as she tried to grasp them. Voices. Too many voices. Urgent, insistent, contradicting one another. Hands reaching, pulling her in different directions.
Lies.
Someone was lying.
She had been trying to break free—trying to reach—
Darcy.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly. The room was dark, unfamiliar, and for a moment she did not know where she was. Her heart raced, her skin damp with a cold sweat.
Rosings.
The memory returned in pieces.
The journey. The revelations. The promise of tomorrow.
Elizabeth pressed a trembling hand to her chest and forced herself to breathe more slowly.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Gradually, the panic eased, though her pulse still thudded heavily in her ears. She lay back against the pillows, staring into the darkness.
What was she to believe? Lady Catherine’s words echoed in her mind—so certain, so composed, so utterly without doubt.
You are my daughter.
Was it truth?
Or the conviction of someone who had lived too long in her own version of events?
Elizabeth turned her head slightly, pressing her cheek into the pillow.
If it were false—if Lady Catherine were mistaken or worse—then what explanation could there be for her father’s actions?
Papa.
Even now, she could scarcely reconcile the man she had always known with the one who had ordered her drugged. Who had planned to carry her away like a criminal in the night.
The hurt of it settled deep.
Beneath the confusion, beneath the fear—
