Page 74 of Courting Elizabeth

He gently turned me beneath him, then stopped the moment he felt me tense.

“Not now.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“Liar.”

“I was only going to kiss you. Thoroughly.”

“And then?”

“Suffer with dignity.”

I laughed. He buried his face in my neck and kissed me until my laughter became a sigh.

I could have told him then.

I loved him.

The certainty didn’t arrive like lightning. It was more like the light filling the room: present before I’d looked at it, revealing everything that had already changed. I loved him in his hard-fought humility, in his patience, in the way he had put my wishes above his rights. I loved him when he laughed with Georgiana, when he knew the name of a farmer’s child, when he gave me the truth at the risk of losing my esteem.

I loved him, and the simplicity of this discovery terrified me.

I wanted to choose the right words. I didn’t want him to think it was gratitude born of pleasure, or a reward for the night we’d shared. I wanted to tell him in a moment that would give back everything he had given me.

So I postponed the confession until evening.

The mail arrived at breakfast.

Jane’s letter bore handwriting so hurried I barely recognized it.

I read the first line.

The world changed.

“Lydia has left Brighton with Mr Wickham. They did not go to Scotland. Colonel Forster is searching for them in London.”

The cup slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.

Fitzwilliam stood.

“Elizabeth?”

I couldn’t speak. I held out the letter to him.

He read it standing. His expression shuttered as he read.

“When?” he asked.

“Three days ago. Jane writes that Forster’s message arrived last night.”

“Your father has left for London?”

“Yes. My uncle Gardiner is to join him.”

I stood, but my legs gave way. Fitzwilliam caught me before I fell.

“This is my fault,” I said.