Page 3 of Mr. Darcy’s Victorious Bride

"And she agreed. Then her courage failed her the night before, and she wrote to me. The letter was half blotted with tears. I rode through the night and reached Ramsgate before dawn."

"He had a fast carriage," Fitzwilliam said. "And her fortune in his mind. Thirty thousand pounds. He wanted the money. He never wanted her."

"What did you do?"

"I paid his debts. I sent him away. I told Georgiana she had done nothing wrong." He looked away. "And then I watched her stop playing the pianoforte. Stop laughing. Stop trusting kindness, because kindness was the weapon he used on her."

Heavens! Fifteen. A year younger than Lydia.

Elizabeth's anger did not vanish. It simply made room for understanding. She saw why he had kept it. She saw exactly what the keeping had cost.

And she could not pretend her own hands were clean. "Lydia was writing to someone," Elizabeth said. "For weeks. I saw a note hidden in her glove. I found a locked box under her bed. I told Jane. I set Mary to watch." She made herself hold his gaze. "I did not tell you."

"I know."

"I told you this morning because Mama was screaming in the corridor and there was no more room for secrets. But I should have told you the day I found the first note." Her throat tightened. "I did not, because telling you meant confessing I could not keep my own sister safe. And I could not bear to see pity on your face. Or worse, patience."

"Patience?"

"The patience that means you are already solving what I have only just confessed. You solve everything, Fitzwilliam. And I did not wish to be one more thing you solved."

He rose from the chair. He crossed the space between them and stood close, close enough that she could smell the ink on his fingers. "We are a fine pair," he said. "I kept Wickham from you to spare Georgiana. You kept Lydia's letters from me to spare yourself. And between the two of us, with all our sparing, we handed Wickham a clear road."

"Yes." The word hurt coming out. "We did."

"Then we are finished with it." His voice dropped. "No more deciding what the other can bear. If I learn a thing that touches you, I tell you. Ugly or not. Mine to tell or not."

"And I the same." Elizabeth took his hand. His fingers closed over hers hard enough to ache, and she welcomed it. "We have tried marriage with well-intentioned silences, Fitzwilliam. It nearly cost me you. Now it may have cost Lydia everything. I would rather have painful truth."

"Painful truth." A muscle moved at the corner of his mouth. "You may regret the bargain. I am told I deliver it without charm."

"I have never once found you charming," Elizabeth said. "I married you entirely for your library."

It was a poor jest, and neither of them laughed. But something in his shoulders eased, and that was worth more than laughter.

She stepped back. "Finish my uncle's letter. I am going to dress, and then we go to Longbourn. Lydia's box is still under her bed, and I mean to open it. If Wickham told her where they were bound, the answer is inside."

"Elizabeth—"

"If you are about to say it is too dangerous, recall what we agreed not two minutes ago."

"I was going to say that your mother cannot come with us." He glanced toward the corridor, where Mrs. Bennet's voice had climbed from grief to trousseau planning without pausing for breath. "If she is seen at Longbourn in this state, half of Meryton will know by supper. Jane must keep her here. We will put it about that she is helping to nurse my aunt."

"Jane will earn her sainthood twice over." Elizabeth paused at the door. "Fitzwilliam. I understand why you kept Georgiana's secret. I understand it. I forgive it, and I am still angry. All three at once."

"I know," he said. "I am in the same condition regarding your letters."

"Then we are well matched."

"We always were."

She left him writing.

In the corridor, Mrs. Bennet had Jane pinned by the window. "...and the lace from Mrs. Darter for her wedding clothes, though heaven knows if there is time, and Lizzy's husband must send a man ahead to Gretna Green with funds, for Mr. Wickham cannot afford a proper wedding breakfast on an officer's pay, and my Lydia must have a proper—" She stopped only long enough to draw breath, and the list began again from the top.

Jane caught Elizabeth's eye over their mother's head. Go, her look said. I have her.

Elizabeth went. She owed Jane a debt beyond payment. Jane would never once collect it.