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Part 19

Posted on Saturday, 20 March 1999

The note was waiting for Charlotte when she and John returned to the hotel. The concierge had stopped her on their way to the elevators, saying that he'd been ordered to give her the message upon her return. Charlotte, confused as to who would need to send word to her in such fashion, opened the note immediately.

Your mother called. Father is in hospital with pneumonia. Come home immediately.

Charlotte felt herself going numb. A moment later, she felt nothing until she awakened moments later on a bench in the lobby. John was holding her on his lap, and the hotel manager had been summoned.

"Papa," she whispered. "John, I have to go home."

"Now? You're leaving now?" John hadn't bothered to read the note which had triggered Charlotte's fainting spell.

"I have to. My father's in the hospital."

"Why?"

"He's...he's got pneumonia," she breathed. "I have to get home now!"

"Charlotte, no one dies of pneumonia," John said with a sneer.

Charlotte glared at him. "When my mother asks me to come home immediately because my father's sick, I think it's something serious," she snapped. She raised herself from his lap and stood on wobbly legs. "I have to go home."

John guided her back to their hotel room where they could continue the discussion in private. Charlotte called the hospital and asked for an update on her father's condition, and was told very little. She started to pack her suitcases when she decided that it would be much better if John just brought it home when he came back.

She got on the phone and went about the rather unpleasant business of changing her flight. She was furious to find out that the earliest flight left in three hours, and that there would be a two-hour layover in New York before she could get a flight to Seattle.

"Isn't there any flight that leaves earlier?" she snapped before accepting the inevitable. But the delay in her flight leaving from London meant she had time to take her luggage home.

"Charlotte, you have to stay," John said as she finished packing.

"Why are you so insistent that I stay? What's holding me here right now? I've been trying to talk to Carl, who keeps avoiding me. You drag me off to the nearest closet whenever you feel amorous and then try to sweet-talk me into sleeping with you right then and there."

"What was so wrong with that? I didn't hear you saying no when we went into that closet."

Charlotte sighed. He was right, of course. "I don't want our first time to be something in a closet where anyone can hear. I want something romantic and wonderful. You know all this, John. I want it to be something special."

"It will be--because it'll be the two of us."

"But you got a little more than upset when I told you to stop."

"Sorry, dear. Can I help it that you make me want to--"

"Whatever. But my father's never sick, John. And he's certainly never been sick enough to be in the hospital. I have to be with him."

"By the time you get there, he'll probably be fine. You'll have wasted a trip for nothing, and I'll have to travel home alone."

Charlotte glared at him. "What the hell does that matter?"

"Er...nothing."

She suddenly understood everything. "You mean the only reason you want me to stay is so that you have someone holding your hand on the flight home?"

"Well, Charlotte, you do know about how much I hate flying."

"I can't believe you're being so incredibly selfish!" she shouted. "My father is possibly dying, and all you can think about is your own peace of mind."

"Your father, as you pointed out, is as strong as an ox."

"I'm going home because I'm needed there. Wouldn't you want me there if you were sick? Or would you rather have me say, 'Sorry, someone needed me to be a mother to him.'"

"I would think--"

"Forget it. We're not continuing this conversation. If we do, we'll only say things we regret."

"But...but...Charlotte..." John was stunned. He would never admit to his fear, and he didn't want to beg her to go. So he hid is fear in anger. "If you go, I may have to find someone else to 'hold my hand,' as you put it."

Charlotte saw red. "Then the hell with you," she said. She pulled the ring off her finger and hurled it at him. "Any man who would threaten something like that when I'm having a family crisis isn't worth the hassle. My father was right. Your only priority is yourself."

Grabbing her bags and her purse, she walked out the door, leaving a furious John behind.

Lydia read the article for the tenth time. Each reading had plunged the knife a bit deeper and put nails in the coffin of her new relationship with Rich.

A member of the housekeeping staff had thoughtfully provided a copy of the Tribune right by her door, confirming her suspicion that someone had figured out that Lydia Janes was actually Lydia Bennet. Rich had accidentally tripped over it on his way to morning practice, seen the article, and took off in a fury to find Georgiana.

Lydia had read it after he was gone. She'd read numerous articles on The Incident since she'd left Chicago, but none had been as damning--or had done as much damage--as this one.

Why? Why now?

For the life of her, Lydia couldn't understand why Georgiana had done such a thing to her, especially now. It wasn't like Lydia intended to skate again. Hell, she didn't really want to set foot near a skating arena. She wasn't Georgiana's rival in any way.

So why had she done this to her?

Already, she'd had several telephone calls from reporters. They'd bribed housekeeping, apparently. One enterprising locust had even asked if the rumors were true about her and Rich. When she'd denied any knowledge of the rumors, he mentioned a bit from one of the local tabloids.

That had caused her to go cold. She had denied it, of course. The reporter then said that they'd been seen together. Lydia had slammed the phone down in disgust.

It had been one thing to worry about the possibility that Rich's skating future might be in jeopardy because he was seeing her. The reality jolted her. This was happening. If she continued to see Rich...she knew what would happen.

And she couldn't do that. She loved him too much to let him wreck his future.

But how could she let him go? How could she not stay and fight for this wonderful man?

What the hell happened to Lydia Bennet? The one who skated in utter pain to win a World Title at sixteen? The one who had a hell of a lot more spunk than this? You're a weakling!

But even as the old spirit emerged, the answers to her questions appeared. Lydia Bennet had happened. Or better yet, her massive stupidity. It was that same stupidity that was rearing its head now, and got power-slammed by maturity and age.

Rich, she had the feeling, would sacrifice his skating career for her. Although he would say he'd have no problems. She knew I her heart that it would hurt. And fester. And in time he'd come to resent her. Then they would both lose.

Better to do the noble thing, then, than be selfish.

Lydia made her decision. She had to leave.

It didn't take long to pack her one suitcase and overnight bag. It took longer to browbeat an airline employee into changing her ticket to Chicago for next week into one for today. She'd planned to go home with Rich.

You can't leave. You can fight! You can--

Lydia's eyes filled with tears. Nothing she could say or do would change public opinion. And if Georgiana Darcy, for whatever reasons she had, continued to play the press like this, Rich would get caught between the woman he cared for (although he'd said he was falling in love with her the night before, it had been right after they'd made love and therefore somewhat suspect) and the woman who saw him as a hero, the sister of his friend.

Her plane left in three hours, giving her just enough time to write Rich a good-bye letter.

Half an hour later, she was still trying to write it. Several crumpled balls were evidence of her frustration and in the next room, someone was playing the stereo so loud she could barely keep her wits together.

The song changed to one she liked and recognized. What was it called? Oh, yeah. Goo Goo Dolls' "Iris."

And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't wanna go home right now...

Lydia sighed. That was her life in a nutshell.

And all I could taste is this moment
And all I could breath is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't wanna miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am...

In the words of the song, Lydia found her good-bye letter to Rich. She wrote quickly, the tears spilling on the page. She signed her name to it, set it so he'd be able to see it when he returned, and took one last look at her hotel room. It was the place where, just last night, she'd spent the happiest moments of her life.

Lydia picked up her bags and fled before she gave into her cowardice and stayed.

"It's not fair," Caroline complained. "Just when you were promised you could stay and report the news from here--"

"Now, now. This is my life, darling. It's not always convenient. Quite honestly, I'm flattered to have been asked to cover Rodman's retirement. I missed out on Jordan's you know, and I'm betting that Rodman is far more entertaining when he makes the announcement."

"Jordan's retirement was years ago," Caroline said. "And it's not like there won't be others. You just got engaged. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Caroline, if I'd asked you three years ago to choose between going to the Olympics and staying with your fiancé--"

"I see your point. I just don't rate Dennis Rodman as being quite so important as the Olympics."

"I see your point...but I still have to go." James smiled at Caroline's woebegone expression. "You know, you could come with me."

"I already checked the flight. The seat next to yours is taken already."

"I'm sure whoever has the seat would be happy to switch with you. Didn't you check to see if there were any other available seats?"

"No."

"Then go check. There's probably a seat. That way you can come home with me."

Caroline gave it all of five seconds' thought before heading straight to the desk. A few moments later, she wore a frown. "They're all booked up."

"You could wait to see if someone cancels."

"The nitwit at the front desk told me that the standby list is quite long." Caroline looked furious that she couldn't persuade the person to allow her to get to the front of the list. Perhaps she should've taken James over there with her. He was more famous than she.

"Then catch the very next flight you can and come home. You shouldn't be too far behind me. I'll wait for you at the airport."

"What about my luggage? I don't want to risk it getting stolen or lost. I've lost enough luggage on airplanes."

"I'm sure we could ask Fitz and Lizzy to bring it home next week. Unless you packed everything you owned--and having seen how much you brought I did wonder--it shouldn't be much of a hardship." James kissed her. "Please, Caroline? You'll probably be an hour behind me. No more."

Caroline smiled. "Did you doubt I'd say yes?"

James laughed. "A bit. But you did say nothing was holding you here but me."

"I don't remember saying that!"

"You didn't?" James knew quite well that she hadn't. "My mistake." But since he was hesitant about whether or not she was coming home, he asked, "You are going to do it, aren't you?"

Caroline was surprised that he had to ask. "Of course. On the very first flight I can catch."

An announcement was made. "TransAtlantic Airlines Flight 716 to New York City is now boarding..."

"That's my plane," he said.

"James, if it takes longer than you think it will, are you still going to wait for me? Or are you going to go home and leave me there?"

"I'll leave you there, of course."

"You wouldn't!"

They laughed and kissed again. "I love you," he said.

"I love you, too. Now go before you miss your flight."

"Maybe I should, that way we can be together."

"Rodman's waiting. Remember?"

"It's not like he's going to retire the minute I get off the plane. I mean, I am planning to wait for you."

"What if I can't get a flight in an hour or two? The Network probably has someone waiting for you at the airport, and you'd get in trouble if you couldn't make it."

"Right."

The announcement of his flight was again repeated.

After four kisses, they parted. He headed for the plane and she went to see if she could get a ticket on the next flight to New York.

Caroline managed to snag a coach seat on a plane leaving in three hours. She stuck her ticket in her purse and headed to see James' plane take off. She sighed forlornly, wishing there'd been at least one seat available.

As the plane lifted off the runway, Caroline turned to head for the bar and have a drink. A moment later, a horrific sound filled the air and the ground vibrated. Caroline turned to see what had happened, but she knew, even before she turned.

James' plane had crashed.

Chaos reigned inside the airport. As emergency crews, airport firefighting forces, and ambulances rushed to the scene of the crash, those who were left behind panicked. Something had caused the engines to explode, causing the plane to turn into an inferno.

Caroline never remembered who had first dragged her, screaming, into a small secluded room. She would have tried to run to the wreckage. Once secured and unable to leave, she broke down into sobs. She'd never been religious, but her only thoughts were prayers. She repeated the same thought over and over again.

"Please, God, don't let him be dead."

As the minutes turned into more than an hour and more people were led into the room to await the fate of their loved ones, Caroline felt her hope dimming. There had been no word yet as to whether or not there were even survivors. A representative of TAA walked into the room, at last, to tell them that there was no word about the fate of the passengers.

Caroline wanted to call someone--anyone--and pour her heart out. But there was no one.

So she waited.

And waited.

And finally, when she felt at her lowest, she looked up to see a familiar face looking down at her.

Rich heard about the crash of Flight 716 at the bar where he was laving a quick drink.

"Oh, God," he murmured. The coverage was sketchy at best, and there were few details.

"As yet," the somber reporter said, "there has been no confirmation, but there is reason to believe that no survivors have been rescued from TransAtlantic Airlines Flight 716."

Rich sighed. He made a mental note to check his flight ticket home and make sure it wasn't for a TAA flight.

Other thoughts dominated his mind at the moment, pushing the plane crash out of memory. He was thinking of the dreadful scene with Georgiana, and of Lydia.

He'd stormed out of her room that morning in search of Georgiana. He hoped she hadn't thought he was angry at her.

Rich sighed, finished his drink, and headed back to Lydia's hotel. They weren't staying at the same hotel at her insistence, but he had a key to her room. She'd given it to him last night.

Rich smiled at the memory. Although Lydia hadn't said anything when he's said he loved her. He decided to give her time. After all, by her own words the last man in her life had been George Wickham. After such a dreadful experience, he could see why she was hesitant to fall in love again.

But he was a different man. If nothing else, his role in the attempted attack should've proved that. He'd saved Georgiana. He would never hurt anyone.

In time, he knew Lydia would see that.

Rich paid the cab driver, walked into the hotel, and took the elevator to Lydia's floor.

The moment he opened the door he knew something was wrong. When he'd left that morning, Lydia's junk had been everywhere. Now there was nothing.

Rich threw open the closet, the drawers. He checked the bathroom. Nothing.

Lydia was gone.

With a roar of outrage, Rich saw what had likely caused her departure--the newspaper. He balled up the sports page and threw it forcefully against the wall.

Finally, Rich noticed the note which had been left on the dresser. Picking it up, he scanned it thoroughly.

Dear Rich,

By the time you receive this letter, I'll be on my way home to Chicago and from there...well, I don't know yet.

Believe me, this wasn't an easy decision, nor is this letter turning out to be an easy letter to write. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to stay. I want to stay. But I can't.

I should lie to you and say things that would hurt, like I don't care about you. Or that I was using you to get back at Lizzy for not inviting me to her wedding. But I can't do that either. I've lied to so many people over the years, including myself. You're the first person I've ever had a truthful relationship with, and I don't want to end it with a lie. I don't ever want to lie to you.

That said, I want to say, if only in this letter, what I know you wanted to hear last night.

I love you, Richard Allen Fitzwilliam.

I wish I could be there to tell you, to see your face when you read those words. But if I were there, you'd tell me things to change my mind and I very well might. I can't change my mind. Too much is at stake for you if I stay.

I didn't stop to think of how bad it could get for you when we started to fall in love. This morning's sports section changed all that. Even if Georgiana hadn't put me back into the limelight, the news of our relationship eventually would've reflected negatively on you. You would no doubt deny this, but it's true. You would resent me in time, and in the end we'd both be bitter. I would cost you what you hold dear and have nothing to show for it. You'd have nothing as well. Better we end it now than head for what we both know is certain disaster.

I would give anything to erase the past. I know that's impossible. And you know that I would give up anything to be with you now, to feel your arms around me, to know that I am loved by you. Last night I had that. Last night was so beautiful, but now it also feels like a dream. And like dreams, sunrise has come to end it.

The world wouldn't understand if we stayed together. I don't blame them for it, because the only person to blame is, in the end, myself. It's the way things have always been and the way they'll always be. Perhaps this, now, is my punishment for what I tried to do three years ago.

Please don't try to call me at home. Just forget I ever existed. No, wait. I don't mean that. Forget I still exist...but always remember that I love you...and that for one wonderful night, you made me feel wanted and loved.

Lydia.

Rich read her letter four times before rooting through the miserable attempts that preceded it, hoping to find a clue as to where she might be going once she got back to Chicago.

On the back of one of her drafts, he saw that she'd scribbled something else.

London--NY Flight 716. NY--Chicago Flight 227.

Flight 716. The flight that had crashed had been Flight 716.

"No," he breathed. "No, no, NO!"

Grabbing those crumpled notes and stuffing them into his duffel bag with her final letter, he raced out of the room and into a cab, heading the airport and praying that he was wrong.

Part 20

Posted on Saturday, 27 November 1999

The world had exploded in her face. Literally.

It would always amaze her later that the crash itself hadn't killed her. It had killed the person in the seat next to her, whom she'd been speaking to just moments earlier. It had killed the people across the aisle from her, in the seats in front and behind her. She would eventually find out that of the one hundred and twelve passengers aboard, only nine survived, herself included.

Something had kept her alive. That same something had kept her from passing out of smoke inhalation when the plane had caught on fire, which would've killed her. She somehow managed to undo her seat belt. From there, one of the fellow survivors had taken over for her. He'd grabbed her arm and led her toward one of the emergency exits. He'd protected her with his body when they'd been forced to drop to the ground.

But she would really know none of this for a week. Although the passenger had protected her as best he could, her head had accidentally hit the ground and the world fell black around her.

"Caroline?"

Had she not been sitting, Caroline Bingley would've fainted. Her head felt light enough as it was, and she blinked her eyes several times.

The man kneeled in front of her, taking her hands in his. He knew that she was close to passing out, and even if he had not observed the physical signs, he would know because her hands were like ice. "Caroline, are you all right?"

This can't be happening. It can't be real. Caroline took one of her hands from his and touched his face with the lightest of touches.

"Darling?" he murmured.

"James," she whispered. "You can't be real. I saw you heading for the plane, and it...it just..."

"Yes, I know." James Hampton looked around at the people who were giving them puzzling glances. He knew that they couldn't remain in this room, because once Caroline realized that he was all too real, their joy would be too much for the tragedy they would soon have to endure. He rose to his feet, bringing her along with him. She was none too steady, so he put an arm around her waist and headed for the door.

"Excuse me, but no one is permitted to leave," the official commanded.

"Like hell. We're not prisoners here. In fact, we have no reason to be here at all. I told you why I wanted to come in."

The official--whose name tag read "Mallory"--frowned at him. "How the hell did you get in here in the first place? You're that reporter--dammit, I said no press!"

"I wasn't looking for a news story, you stupid son of a..." James lowered his voice, realizing that he was attracting attention. "This, sir, is my fiancé. She thought I was on the plane, and I came to get her so she wouldn't worry about me any further. Now let me out of here or I will make this a news story!" James swept past the stunned official, Caroline close at his side.

James led her as far away from where the wreck could be viewed as he could before sitting her down again. He sat in the chair next to her, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.

Caroline knew then that it was really him. No one kissed her like James did, and no one's kiss made her feel the same. She pulled away from his arms, tears streaming down her face, but she had to look at him. Her heart and subconscious knew that he was truly here, but her mind refused to believe it.

"It's really you," she murmured.

"It's really me."

She slapped him--hard. "You son of a bitch!" she screamed. "How could you let me think you were dead? How could you let me sit in that room for nearly two hours, thinking of the crash and the fire and--"

James tried to pull her into his arms again, but Caroline, enraged, beat at him with her fists. He wasn't upset. He knew that her rage wasn't because she was furious to see him, but rather fear. She'd gone through hell in the past few hours. For that matter, he'd gone through hell in the past few hours, because no one would let him into the room to find her due to his being a sportscaster. He'd finally had to bribe someone when the officious Mallory had gone to get an update before he'd gotten in to her.

Caroline's anger finally abated, she settled for crying brokenly. "Oh, God, Jimmy, I was so scared!" she sobbed, throwing her arms around him so tightly he could hardly breathe. "I thought you were dead. I thought...I saw the fire and...and...oh, God!"

James hugged her just as hard as she hugged him, thinking as he did so about the poor unfortunate person who had taken his seat. He wondered if that person was now alive or dead. He wondered who that person was, for he had no way of knowing.

Caroline finally grew silent in his arms, and she again pulled away to look at him. Taking his face in her hands, she asked, "Why weren't you on the plane?"

Taking her hands in his, James sighed. "I was standing on the runway, about to board the plane, when I got to thinking about how much I've done over the years because of my career. Things I've sacrificed, people I've let down. And I thought about the look on your face when I told you I had to leave. And about the fact that we had just gotten engaged. I realized that as much as I would've liked to have been present for such an announcement, I loved you more. I decided that we were going to stay. I wanted to surprise you by showing up in the seat next to yours on your plane, so I hid while you watched that flight take off. I was in line to buy my ticket when that plane crashed. I didn't think about you worrying at first, but when I couldn't find you anywhere in the airport, I realized where you had to be. But...you know why they wouldn't allow me in there until I was able to bribe someone."

Caroline nodded, not trusting herself to say anything.

"I will admit that I did call the Network--just to let them know that I was alive--and they told me they wanted me to start covering the crash from here, since I was the closest. The camera crew that came with me is on the way--in fact, they're probably here now. But I don't know if I want to go out there or not."

"Don't go," she whispered. "I can't let you go anywhere. Especially anywhere near that...that wreck. Promise me you won't go."

James once thought that nothing would come between him and his work. But looking into the beautiful eyes of this woman who had come to mean so much to him in so short a time, he knew he couldn't resist her. "I won't," he replied.

"Promise me you'll never leave me again."

"Never."

"Jimmy..."

"Yes, my darling Caroline?"

"I want to get married as soon as possible."

James grinned. "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Well...did I ever happen to mention that I'm technically a British citizen?"

"What?" Caroline looked confused.

"Yeah. My parents lived in England before I was born, and a few years after. I was never naturalized, since my parents tended to see themselves as citizens of the world and I didn't bother to do it after I became an adult. I don't think there would be any legal problem with getting married here...as soon as possible."

The anger and pain and fear were now gone, forgotten. Caroline's heart was filled with joy, and although it was probably not the best of times, she was happy. She hugged him, and couldn't resist laughing...quietly.

But her smile and laugh faded as she saw the worried figure running across the terminal, heading for the room she had so recently been in.

"Oh, my God," she murmured.

"What is it, darling?"

"I just saw Rich Fitzwilliam go by. He was heading for..." Caroline looked away, toward the direction Rich had disappeared in. "I wonder who it is."

James looked around him. They were in no place to be discussing their future. Anyone might see them, and given the tragedy which had just occurred, he knew they had to leave. "Let's go, sweetheart," he said.

"I never want to see this place again," Caroline said. "Perhaps we could return to America by boat, rather than flying."

"It's something we'll talk about--back at the hotel."

Rich never saw Caroline and James embracing as he rushed toward the window with a view of the crash. The plane was still smoldering, although the fire had been put out. An ambulance was on the scene, and a draped figure was being rushed into it. It looked to be a woman with dark hair, but from where he stood, Rich couldn't be certain.

But it had to be Lydia. It had to be her. She couldn't be dead.

Rich allowed himself to be escorted into a room where a gathering of families and friends were awaiting word of their loved ones' fates. Rich couldn't help but cling to the letter Lydia had written to him, reading it over and over again. Surely the woman who had put words to paper so short a time ago was still alive. She couldn't be dead. He would feel it if she were dead, surely he would.

As he continued to wait for news about survivors, he thought about what had happened last night and this morning. He thought about Lydia and Georgiana. About the latter young woman, he was still drawing a blank. Why had she decided to break a three-year silence about the incident to deliberately hurt Lydia? Why had she lied to him? Why had she bothered? What was in it for her?

If he didn't know any better, he'd think....he'd almost believe...

No. Earlier today, he'd thought it was possible, but then he'd dismissed it because for one thing, Georgiana was far too young to even think of him in such a way. But as he kept turning it over in his mind--and he had nothing else he wanted to think about, because if he thought of Lydia he'd think about her dying--he began to see that it was the only explanation that worked.

Georgiana was in love with him.

Or rather, she thought she was in love with him. She was too young and foolish to know what love actually was. What he had with Lydia--that was love. He'd been willing to give up Georgiana's friendship and possibly Liz and Fitz's for her. Georgiana was just a foolish girl.

But she was a foolish girl with a powerful weapon, and she'd used it.

Rich felt the anger rising in him as he got to thinking about Georgiana's part in this whole nightmare. But before he could think of anything more, an official from the airline came into the room to give all those who had waited very grim news.

Fitz was getting more and more furious with his sister the longer she was gone. He'd been waiting for the better part of three hours to talk to her about that newspaper article and her public fight with Rich this morning. He was getting tired of waiting and there was no sign of her.

"Fitz, you're going to drive me nuts with all that pacing. Do something constructive but sit down," Lizzy said as she turned the page of the new Jennifer Cruisie novel she was reading.

Fitz wasn't going to heed her advice he soon became rather tired of pacing. He sat down on the couch and turned on the television. The Network's Don Rutherford stared out at him, somberly relating the day's news breaking story.

"...nine people have survived the tragic crash of TAA Flight 716. Their names have not been released, as two of the survivors remain unidentified. Again, repeating our late-breaking news, it has been confirmed that only nine survivors of the one hundred and nineteen people aboard TransAtlantic Flight 716 have been found. We shall bring you more as news becomes available."

The news turned to other matters, and Fitz frowned. He switched to another channel, wondering why the Network wasn't covering more on the crash. They were usually all over this sort of thing. For that matter, he was surprised that he hadn't seen James covering it, since he was the nearest correspondent.

A British reporter's face eerily matched Don Rutherford's, and what he reported chilled Fitz to the bone. "There is an unconfirmed report coming in that among the fatalities of TransAtlantic Flight 716 is sportscaster James Hampton, a famed reporter known for his ground-breaking interviews with the world's top athletes."

Lizzy and Fitz gasped at the same time. Lizzy's nerveless fingers dropped her book into her lap as they stared at the screen.

"Again, this is unconfirmed, but he was scheduled to be returning to New York City on that flight. The names of the survivors have yet to be released as two of them remain unidentified. We know that the unidentified survivors are a man and a woman, but beyond that we know very little. We have unconfirmed sightings of Hampton's fiancé, Caroline Bingley, being led into the room where the families and friends of the passengers have been waiting for the past several hours."

"Oh my God," Fitz breathed. He barely felt Lizzy take his hand and squeeze it.

"The rescue teams are continuing their search for survivors within the plane now that the fire has been put out, but..."

The man continued rambling as Fitz reached for the phone. He had no idea who he was going to call, so he put it back down. "This can't be happening," he said. "James was supposed to be here for the week. He told me himself. Someone must be joking with us."

"I don't think they'd do that," Lizzy replied. "If Caroline is there, I'm inclined to believe it's real."

Just at that moment, the telephone rang. Fitz picked it up and said quickly, "Hello?" He listened for a moment, then said, "Rich, I wish I could put her on, but we've got to...what?...Oh, God...How did you...what...no. I'll let her know. If...if you get...call us when--if--yeah...Rich? Have you seen Caroline Bingley there at all, or my cousin James?...Okay. Yeah, I'd appreciate it. Thanks." Fitz hung up the phone and turned to his wife with stricken eyes.

Lizzy knew instinctively that it was something other than James. "What?" she asked.

Fitz took her in his arms and held her close. After a moment of silent consolation, he pulled away slightly and told her.

"Lydia was on the plane."

The phone wouldn't stop ringing. Carl was already half hung over, he was worrying a great deal about the idea of an enraged Fitz Darcy coming after him for taking his sister's virginity, and Georgiana was still asleep in his bed.

Now he couldn't get the damn phone to stop ringing. Well, actually, all he was trying to do was ignore it. But whoever was on the other line must've known he was there, because they hadn't given up.

Finally, Carl grabbed the receiver and set it on the table beside the lamp. He'd cut off the ringing, but now there was a tinny, disconnected voice shouting at him.

"CARL! CARL, IT'S MARIAH!"

Mariah. Mariah Lucas? What the hell is she calling me for?

Carl sighed and put the phone to his ear. "Mariah, do you have any idea what time it is here?"

"I happen to know that it's only eight-thirty there! Carl, where's Charlotte?"

"How do I know? I'm not her fiancé."

"I realize that. I've tried John's room, but I was told that he checked out this afternoon and didn't leave a forwarding address."

"Then shouldn't you conclude that Charlotte is with him?" Carl wished he were asleep. He really didn't need to think about Charlotte and John together.

"I would, except that Charlotte called us from the airport to tell us that she was on her way home."

Carl sat up straight in bed. "What? Why was Charlotte on her way home?"

"Because Papa's sick. He's got pneumonia and...and right now, he's not doing too good. Charlotte promised she would be on the six-thirty flight. She called from the airport to tell us this. And she wasn't on it."

"Maybe she had trouble catching her plane. Maybe something happened and she was late for it."

"I don't think so. She would've called if something had happened. This was too important for her to play games."

"Not to sound too repetitive, but why are you calling me?"

"I was thinking that maybe she called you. We've all been at the hospital, and Charlotte probably didn't have the number there. She had no way to get a hold of us."

"Well, I hate to tell you, but I haven't even seen her..." Carl trailed off. He had seen her, just that day in fact. "I haven't talked to her."

"Oh." Mariah's voice sounded small and scared.

"Look, let me see what I can find out on this end. Do you know what flight she was supposed to be on?"

"We were meeting her at the airport. She was going to be on Flight 101 from New York."

"What about her flight from London? Do you know what her flight number was?"

"I don't know. It was TransAtlantic, because we always use that one. Flight seven something. I heard that over the loudspeaker when she was getting off the phone. She said it was her flight."

"All right. Where are you at?"

"At home. That way you can call me."

"Okay. As soon as I find something out, I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Carl." Mariah hung up.

Carl sighed. How the hell was he going to find out anything about Charlotte?

But more chilling than that--what had happened to her? It seemed like she'd gotten on a plane and had simply vanished. The place to start looking was in New York.

After he'd showered.

Fifteen minutes later, Carl came out of the bathroom wearing a white bathrobe and immediately saw Georgiana sitting on the bed, the only light in the room coming from the television she was staring at in horror.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She looked at him with tears streaking her pretty face. Only hours earlier, she'd been looking at him with wonder, curiosity, amazement...and now she looked as though her world had vanished.

"There's been a plane crash," she murmured. "It seems as if my cousin James was on it. And they think he's dead."

Carl sat on the edge of the bed and held her while she cried. He paid scant attention to the television until he heard someone say, "There are forty-five confirmed fatalities resulting from the terrible crash of TransAtlantic Airlines Flight 716. Only nine survivors have been found thus far, leading authorities to believe that the remaining sixty-five people aboard are also dead. The plane, which was scheduled to land in New York, crashed just moments after takeoff at approximately 12:30 this afternoon..."

It was TransAtlantic, because we always use that one...Flight seven something...

Carl grabbed the phone and dialed the Lucases' number.

"Hello?" Mariah answered on the first ring.

"Mariah, it's Carl. What time did Charlotte call you?"

"Why?"

"It's important. Please! What time did she call!"

"I...I think it was around noon."

"And you're certain it was TransAtlantic she was on?"

"Yes. Papa's got a friend who gets us a discount on our tickets--"

"Was the flight number 716?"

"I don't remember. That sounds like it might be it--Carl, what does any of this matter?"

Carl looked at Georgiana, who had calmed down a bit. Tears were still streaking her face, but the expression was different, relieved yet still horrified by what she was seeing on the television. "He's been found," she said quietly. "He never got on the plane."

"Who?" Carl asked.

"My cousin. James. Remember?"

"Oh...er, right." He didn't want to admit that in his panic about Charlotte, he'd forgotten that Georgiana had been fearful for her cousin's safety.

"Carl?" Mariah was nearly shouting.

"Turn on your television," Carl croaked. "CNN would probably be best."

"Why?"

"Because there's been a plane crash. And I think Charlotte was on the plane."

Very early the next morning, it was confirmed that the nine survivors who had been found immediately were the only ones that would be found.

The two unknown survivors were eventually identified. The man, a businessman from Albany, New York, was conscious within hours and able to tell them who he was.

The woman was more difficult to identify, as the impact had destroyed much of her face and she had fallen into a coma from her head hitting the ground. Had it not been for a piece of paper stuck in her jeans pocket, which had somehow managed to make it through the disaster, she might well have remained unidentified. But the note had indeed been found and traced back to the hotel it had originated from.

The hotel manager remembered quite well who the note had been given to, and that was how Charlotte Corinna Lucas was identified.

Within hours, the rest of the passenger list would be released to the media, listing those who had lived and those who had died.

Among the fatalities was Lydia Jane Bennet, age twenty-one.

Part 21

Following the horrific news that Lydia Bennet had been killed in the plane crash, everyone expected to hear that Lizzy and Fitz would be withdrawing from the competition. Although people within the skating community knew that the Bennet sisters had not been close, they knew how loyal Lizzy was. But the announcement never came, merely word sent through their agent that they would skate in Lydia's memory. Many people whispered behind their hands that for Fitz to say that might be a little hypocritical, especially given his feelings toward his sister-in-law and given what Georgiana had said in her last interview before Lydia's death, but no one would deny Lizzy the right to skate for her sister.

Two days after Lydia's death, an enterprising reporter from the New York Times pieced together Lydia's life after the previous Olympics. He talked to the people she'd skated with when she went by Lindsey Bent. He was impressed with how generous they said she was, how talented, how supportive. It seemed so incongruous with the Lydia Bennet the world thought it knew. He wrote an eloquent piece that was printed across the country, and soon the world knew just how badly it had treated the young woman who could've been the reigning Olympic champion.

And it made people see Georgiana Darcy's ill-fated interview with Bret Sullivan in a different light. Everyone fully expected Georgiana to withdraw from the competition, but when no word came from her, it was clear that she'd chosen to stay and compete. She would defend her World title.

No one knew for certain exactly what Rich Fitzwilliam intended to do. For the first day after the crash, he hadn't really known himself. He didn't want to stay here, the scene of his greatest tragedy. At the same time, he didn't think he could bear to leave it.

He thought about going home. If it hadn't been for his damned career, he thought, Lydia would still be alive, in London, safe. But if he went home and didn't compete, didn't continue on, then her magnanimous gesture would be in vain, and he couldn't do that to her memory. He decided to try and sleep on the decision, hoping that he would sleep, at any rate.

Rich spent the first night in the hotel room he'd shared with Lydia. Her fragrance lingered in the air and he couldn't bear to part with it. It clung to the sheets, which hadn't been changed for some reason. He could smell the shampoo she'd used in her hair on the pillows. He could feel her presence around him, even though she was gone.

And there could be no denying that she was. He'd been the one to identify her body, wanting to spare Lizzy at the very least. Had it been up to him, he would've let Frances Bennet see what had happened to her baby girl. It was no less than what she deserved, for she had played a part in Lydia's decision to go home. Perhaps if Frances had supported her decision to leave skating, Lydia would've turned to her in support and would've stayed.

But in the end, Rich had had to know for himself. He'd had to see her. Or what there had been of her. He'd known, when the coroner had revealed the body beneath the sheet, that there was a hell. And Lydia was surely in heaven now because the last minutes of her life had been hell.

He hadn't cried. He had stood over her charred, broken body and hadn't wept a tear. He'd only turned to the coroner or whoever the hell he'd been and told him that it was Lydia Bennet.

And now here he was, alone in the room they'd shared less than forty-eight hours ago, alone with only memories and traces of someone who was no more.

The idiots next door seemed to think that dance music was a good thing to play, and they played it at top volume. Rich was about to run over there and smash their stereo to bits when the music changed to something a little slower. But instead of it getting better, it was only worse. It was the Goo Goo Dolls' "Iris." Rich put one of the pillows over his face to block out the song.

Only he couldn't.

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you breathe just to know you're alive

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am...

Rich read the fragments of the letter Lydia had finally managed to write to him, the last words she would have for anyone. The sheet of paper she'd written her flight number on had the lyrics to this song on the other side. She'd underlined the words.

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't wanna go home right now.

One other passage was marked:

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.

Lydia had written something similar to those words in her letter. She presumably felt that it summed up her situation.

Perhaps it had.

But it had been provoked. Someone had forced her to decide to leave. Frances, in part. Not Liz--thank God, not Liz. She'd gone to see Lydia before she'd died, and he thanked God that she had. At least Lydia had had the satisfaction of having made up with her sister.

But Rich hadn't forgotten the thought that had occurred to him just before the officials came in to tell the people waiting that most of the people aboard Flight 716 were likely dead. He knew he would never forget it. Georgiana thought she loved him. Georgiana had destroyed his life...and all because of some schoolgirl whimsy. He highly doubted that she loved him. Love was an adult emotion, and Rich saw nothing in Georgiana's actions or behavior that would indicate that she was mature enough to handle love.

But in her childish pursuit, she'd managed to do a lot of damage. And he would never forgive her for it. God would have to strike him dead first.

Rich reread Lydia's letter. His fingers brushed over the words that had crushed his heart and pierced his soul. He wished she had told him herself, so that he could've told her how much he'd fallen in love with her.

I love you.

She had loved him enough to do what she saw as the right thing. And it had cost her her life.

The idiots next door thought it would be cute to play the song again. And at last, Rich broke down and sobbed.

Carl could think of only one lie that would get him into the Critical Care Unit to see Charlotte. Oh, sure, he could've relied on his celebrity to get in, but he'd never been that sort of person and therefore the idea of doing it rankled him. So he told them that he was her fiancé. It worked much faster than telling them he was Carl Denny would've, although one of the student nurses had recognized him.

He was dressed in a sterile gown and given a mask to wear before they would let him in to see her. And he was only able to see her for five minutes, but he knew that in those five minutes, seeing that she was actually alive, that she'd managed to make it through hell, would be enough.

The moment Carl saw the bandaged, battered body on the bed, he couldn't blink back his tears. She'd survived, but God, it looked like she was going to die at any moment. The chief doctor taking care of her tried to explain her injuries in DoctorSpeak until Carl had snapped, "What would that be in English?"

And so he was told. Charlotte had suffered superficial burns from the fire. She'd suffered a bit of damage from smoke inhalation, though that was relatively minor. The worst of the damage had been done from the crash, which had shattered most of the bones in her face and broken both of her hands.

And of course, there was the hit her head had taken when she'd managed to escape the plane. That had caused the coma.

The doctors told him what was obvious--that Charlotte was lucky to be alive...and that her survival was by no means assured.

Carl called Mariah from a pay phone to tell her. He received the good news that Bobby Lucas' condition had been upgraded to stable, and it looked like he was going to be out of the hospital in another day or two. No one had had the heart to cause a relapse by telling him about Charlotte.

Mariah had offered to fly to London, but Carl had resisted the idea. Bobby would want to know why she'd gone, and then Charlotte's accident would have to be explained sooner than they'd like. Carl told Mariah that he would keep the family updated on Charlotte's condition.

Once an hour, Carl was allowed back in to see her. Charlotte's face was mummified, except for one eye that remained closed. Her other eye was bandaged as well, and he'd been told that the bone supporting it had been crushed. She was fortunate because it didn't look like she would lose the eye.

One of the doctors, seeing the horrified look on his face when he'd first seen Charlotte and heard about the extent of her injuries, tried to make him feel better by telling him that a good plastic surgeon would be able to fix her up.

"I just want her to be alive before I worry about anything else," Carl said curtly.

Another day passed before he thought of John. It was the first time he'd thought of him, and when he realized that he hadn't heard from him since the crash, he was furious.

His fiancee is near death. Where the hell is he?

Carl knew John hadn't been on the plane. He'd scanned the list to see for certain that James Hampton hadn't been there, and breathed a sigh of relief for Georgiana's sake. He'd been shocked to see Lydia's name, and though he'd called several times, no one was in Rich's hotel room. He'd left several messages without telling Rich where he was. He had the feeling that Rich wouldn't appreciate the fact that Charlotte was still alive when Lydia wasn't.

But back to the John thing. Carl vaguely remembered Mariah saying that John had checked out of his hotel without leaving a forwarding address. He hadn't come home, because he'd tried his number. He hadn't been with Charlotte...so where the hell had he gone?

Carl was coming up with several places John Thorpe could be (most of the ideas included busty blondes) when he went to see Charlotte again. This time, he looked at her hands. They were both bandaged, but it got him to wondering about something.

He left the room and found the student nurse who had recognized him the day before. "Could you help me find something out?" he asked.

"I can try, Mr. Denny," she said politely.

"Okay. I want to know about my fiancee's ring."

"Pardon?"

"Her engagement ring. She would've been wearing it, and I was wondering...if maybe you had it. Or if someone had saved it, or...maybe it fell off in the crash or something..."

The nurse nodded slowly, then disappeared. Carl figured that she'd taken him for a madman until she returned with a brown envelope.

"This is all the jewelry she had when she was found," the nurse said.

Carl looked inside. A pair of diamond stud earrings. The locket with the diamond and ruby chips that had belonged to her grandmother. A hammered silver bracelet he'd given her for her birthday last year, though barely recognizable from the force of the trauma it had sustained.

But no engagement ring. That gaudy rock would've stood out immediately.

"Is it possible that they had to cut it off because her hands were broken?" he asked, remembering Charlotte once complaining that it was a bit snug. It wouldn't have fallen off in the crash.

"If she had it, it would be in there."

Carl thanked her and she walked away.

He knew he should be concentrating on prayers so Charlotte would get well. He should be trying to find John because he was actually her fiancé. He should definitely call Seattle to give them an update on Charlotte's condition, though it hadn't changed and it was far too early out there to be calling.

But one thought had taken over his brain and wouldn't let go. And it had to do with the remote possibility that Charlotte and John had broken up, which was why he hadn't been on the plane with her.

Which meant that if she woke up, he might finally have his chance.

But first she had to wake up. She had to.

Fitz worried about Lizzy, naturally. Her sister was dead and her family was shattered forever. She'd hardly spoken in the past three days, not even at practice. Lizzy seemed determined--unnaturally so--to keep things under control, including her emotions. But it was clear that she was not able to concentrate on skating. He was afraid to lift her, for fear of her not locking her grip and falling to the ice. Her ankle still occasionally pained her from the nasty spill she'd taken at George Wickham's hands, just as Georgiana's knee still bothered her to this day.

But Lizzy refused to withdraw. She'd told him she wouldn't leave.

"If our roles were reversed, Lydia would be here," she said quietly, and that was the end to that conversation.

Lizzy had been the one to write the statement they'd asked Tommy Gershwin to make for them, announcing that they would return home immediately following the long program for Lydia's memorial service. She'd called the airline--TWA--to change their flight. She'd even made preliminary calls to funeral homes back in Chicago to price services. Lord knew her mother had been unable to do so.

The only thing Lizzy hadn't done was identify Lydia's body. Rich had taken care of that for them, but now Fitz was beginning to wish he hadn't. Fitz suspected that Lizzy was trying to pretend that Lydia hadn't died. Seeing her would've prevented that.

Pretend though she might, Fitz could see the strain in her eyes. She hadn't slept the night before, which had left dark circles beneath her eyes. And her eyes were haunted, just as his were. But his concerns were for her, and for Georgiana as well. Lizzy hadn't spoken to his sister since Lydia's death, and Fitz feared that their easy friendship might be at an end.

In the wake of the crash, he hadn't bothered to ask Georgiana about where she'd been that afternoon. He barely remembered that she'd been gone, because when she'd come back, he'd been trying to reassure Lizzy that Lydia couldn't possibly be dead. Fitz remembered that Georgiana had asked why Lizzy was so upset, and he'd been rather surprised when she had run sobbing to her room when he'd told her. He hadn't paid it much mind then, since Lizzy had needed him more than Georgiana had. Since the news had come that Lydia was dead, Georgiana hadn't left her room except to practice, and when she did practice she went to a rink far away from the competition where she could practice in anonymity and privacy. Fitz knew that there were some who were holding Georgiana's thoughtless comments to that reporter against her now that Lydia was dead. He wondered if it wouldn't be better for her to withdraw, but when he'd asked she'd staunchly refused.

"I don't care if they put me dead last even while skating perfectly," she said. "I'm not withdrawing."

Late at night on the third day after the crash, Fitz lay awake, unable to sleep. Unlike the other nights that had preceded it in his short marriage, there were no hugs, kisses, flirting, nothing affectionate between Lizzy and himself. They merely lay in bed, trying to sleep, without saying a word to each other.

Fitz heard a choked sob. He thought at first that it was coming from Georgiana's room, but the sound was too close to be her. He turned to look at his wife. Lizzy's body was shaking. Although he wasn't sure, it looked as though she had her fist in her mouth to keep from making more noise.

Fitz sat up and laid a hand on her shoulder. Lizzy turned to look up at him with wet eyes, then she turned away.

"Don't shut me out," he murmured. "Please. I can take anything but that, Elizabeth."

Lizzy sat up, threw herself into his arms, and cried. Fitz felt tears trickle down his own cheeks as his wife wept.

"All I can think of is that at least I got to talk to her," Lizzy said when she'd caught her breath. "At least I forgave her for everything. She knew that I loved her. Mom didn't do that."

Fitz stroked Lizzy's dark hair. He hadn't spoken to either of his in-laws since the crash. Lizzy had been the one to tell her parents that Lydia was dead, and when she'd returned, she had said nothing about what they'd said. He hadn't asked, since Lizzy had been taking care of arrangements, and he'd been trying to coax Georgiana out of her room.

Lizzy talked now of how her mother had railed at Fate and circumstances. But what got him worried was what Lizzy said next. "She said it was all my fault...and Georgiana's. I married you and brought that girl into Lydia's family, and then Georgiana..."

Fitz knew all too well how irrational Frances Bennet could be. And when it came to Lydia's death, he had a feeling that she would take irrational to an extreme.

He vowed to keep Frances away from his sister.

"Elizabeth..."

"I hate myself for saying this, Fitz, but I resent her for that!"

"Resent who?" he asked, fearing she meant Georgiana.

"My mother. I resent her because she makes it sound like she's done nothing." A choked, sarcastic laugh. "That's the problem. She did nothing. I resent her because she pushed Lydia into skating and never gave her a choice. I resent her because she's playing the martyr. Her 'dear, beloved baby' is dead, and she doesn't bother to mention the rest of it."

A chill went through him. He had to ask the question that had crept into his mind because of her words. "Darling...do you blame Georgiana for Lydia's death?"

"No," she said quietly. "Just as Georgiana decided to answer that terrible reporter's question, Lydia decided to go home on that plane. Georgiana didn't know that the question would lead to Lydia's leaving, and Lydia didn't know that her plane was going to...to..."

Lizzy cried for another couple minutes before continuing. "I...I thought, when I saw the article, that Lydia would fight for Rich. I never figured she'd go home without even a whimper."

Fitz knew that she probably did blame Georgiana in some small way, and she would never tell him if he was right. Nor would she ever show it to Georgiana, because whatever reasons she'd had for doing it, she'd been punished enough.

Fitz tightened his hold on Lizzy. "I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," she replied, raising her head from his chest and kissing him. "I love you so much. Please, Fitz...promise me you'll never leave me."

"Never," he murmured, burying his face in her soft hair and clutching her tightly. "Never, darling."

John Thorpe had heard about the crash, but news like that always made him remember his own bad experience in a plane, so he didn't listen long enough that first day to discover who had been involved. The second and third days he spent in bed with Catie Morland, and thus had no reason to bother turning on the television. If either of them thought it peculiar that her coach hadn't tried to find her, they didn't voice it.

John sighed. Catie Morland was definitely a prospect worth considering, although he didn't know whether or not he wanted the aggravations that sleeping with her would undoubtedly bring if he signed her. She was bubbleheaded and silly, but eager enough that he'd checked out of his hotel to spend the night at her hotel room. If Charlotte called, as he knew she would, she wouldn't be able to find him.

Good. Let her stew for a while. Let her worry about me. Then, when she realizes she's made a mistake, just like she did the last time, she'll know how things stand.

John's time with young Catie was pleasurable but hardly memorable. He'd told her that if she won, she could join his tour. If she didn't win...well, he wouldn't take her. He only worked with the best.

The following morning, Catie was at practice by the time John woke up. He awoke at noon and flipped on the TV. The Network, which he figured would have some coverage of the qualifying skating programs, was instead doing a retrospective on Lydia Bennet, of all people.

John frowned. What had the girl done to warrant such a tribute? She'd been infamous from the moment she'd tried to attack Georgiana Darcy. She was a disgrace. Why did it seem as though this program was glorifying her? If they were going to do a career retrospective, they should've done one on me. At least I've made something of my life, unlike that silly nitwit.

Not that he would've agreed to do it. Such things would put quite a bit of public scrutiny on his humble beginnings, and he had worked damn hard to keep people from finding out about those.

John turned off the TV and took a shower. Although he knew he shouldn't, he decided to call Charlotte. He dialed her home number but only got the answering machine. He figured she was at the hospital with her father. He didn't leave a message.

He ordered a substantial lunch from room service, and asked that a newspaper be brought up with it. As he waited for the food, he went to stand on the balcony.

Charlotte.

Funny how he couldn't stop thinking about her. Oh, he was still furious that she hadn't stayed behind with him, but that was fading. In the light of a new day (or two), with the memory of Catie quickly fading, John couldn't help admiring his feisty, sharp-tongued fiancee. Any other woman would've stayed, but not his Charlotte. She'd left, telling him to go to hell as she did.

Well, he supposed he couldn't blame her. He had acted foolish about the whole thing.

But he was confident that she'd come back. She had the last time they'd fought, and he saw no reason why she wouldn't this time, too. Because if she didn't...

If she didn't...

Dear God, he was in love with her!

John chuckled to himself. Was it so dreadful an idea, to be in love with woman he was going to marry? Terrifying, yes. He'd never been in love before. But if the thought of not having Charlotte in his life made him shudder in fear, then he'd rather be in love.

John looked down to see a limo pull up to the hotel. A long, tanned pair of legs got out, followed by a female with a body that would start World War III. He grinned. Just because he loved Charlotte didn't mean he had to give up admiring beautiful women. Perhaps he'd track her down later and--

Someone knocked on his door. Lunch and his paper.

John gave the man a small tip and turned to his meal. He frowned when he discovered that the paper was a couple of days old.

Honestly, he thought, as much as they charge you to death for room service, the least they could do is bring a recent newspaper.

He glanced at the headline.

John stared at the pictures accompanying the headline, the reason for Lydia's career retrospective clear. He stared at the picture of Lydia Bennet. It was three years old, but he remembered seeing her briefly at her sister's wedding. Such a pretty young woman...

John felt the deaths of pretty young women to be major crimes against nature.

The paper had been folded in half. He flipped to the bottom half and felt his heart skip a beat when he came to the rest of the story.

"Charlotte!" he gasped. He didn't bother reading the article. He dressed hurriedly and, carrying the newspaper with him, took the elevator to the lobby and went in search of a cab.

He didn't care if he had to go to every hospital and medical facility in England. He was going to find her.

After all, he was her fiancé. She needed him.

Part 22

Small warning: In this chapter there is a description of what happened in the plane crash. I don't think it's too graphic but I thought I should just put a little warning in just to be on the safe side. My most humble apologies to everyone for taking so long to get this posted.

In the days following the plane crash, the hospital staff had come to admire Carl Denny's dedication to Charlotte Lucas. Though the news reported that another man, John Thorpe, was actually her fiancé, the fact that this Thorpe had yet to make an appearance -- plus the fact that Charlotte's jewelry didn't include her famed engagement diamond -- led them to suspect that Carl wasn't lying about being engaged to Charlotte.

"And you can see by how eager he is to be with her that he loves her," a pretty young nurse whispered to another who was coming in to relieve her. "I wish my Nigel would care like that for me."

No one ever thought of denying Carl the right to see Charlotte. He carried news of her condition to her family in Seattle, who could not come to London, the staff had been told, due to an illness in the family. No one who knew he technically had no right to see her cared enough to enforce the rules.

And then, on the fourth morning, John Thorpe appeared. He was immaculate and unruffled, wearing a tidy gray pin stripe suit. His eyes were clear. He looked well rested. He did not, however, seem like a man whose fiancé was near death.

"Good morning," he said in a calm voice. "I understand that my fiancé is here."

"And who would that be?" Ms. Hawthorne, the head nurse on duty, asked.

"Charlotte Lucas."

It seemed as though everyone stopped breathing. So this, then, was the real fiancé, who was only now, four days later, coming to see her.

"She was in the plane --"

"We are all quite aware of how Miss Lucas sustained her injuries." Ms. Hawthorne's look of censure told John exactly what she thought of him. "She has, after all, been in our care for four days."

"I would've been here the minute I heard the news, but I was suffering from the flu and I didn't think you'd let me in to see her."

The nurse doubted that very much, but said nothing.

"I would like to see her, please," John said, frustrated. Stupid British mad cow, he thought with disgust. "She's my fiancé and I have every right to see her."

"I'm afraid we shall require some proof that you are the lady's fiancé, Mr. Thorpe," Ms. Hawthorne replied coldly.

"Don't be absurd, you silly woman. Don't you know who I am?"

"No, I don't," she lied. "You have informed me that you are John Thorpe. You claim you are engaged to one of our patients."

"Claim to be -- I am!"

"I would advise you to keep your voice down or I'll call to have you removed from the premises."

"Lady, I'm going to have you fired for this. My fiancé is here, hurt badly, and all alone."

"She has not been alone."

"Her family is here? But I thought her father--" John frowned. "Clearly a lie. Someone's idea of a practical joke, and she almost died because of it."

"Her family is not here, as you haven't been."

"Then who --" The question died in John's mouth as his eyes fastened on someone walking out of the room.

The man looked like hell. His hair was standing in spikes around his head. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes. His normally smiling mouth was set in a worried, grim line. Had anyone wanted to guess who the fiancé of the woman in Room 1014 was, they would've guessed it to be Carl Denny.

"Denny," John said coldly. "I should've known."

Carl was so tired that he didn't notice John. "Nurse Hawthorne, I'll be resting in that little room. Wake me when I can see her again."

"You might as well go home, Denny. You won't be seeing Charlotte again anytime soon."

Carl find realized who was standing at the desk. "Where the hell have you been?"

"None of your business. The question should be, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here because Charlotte's here." Carl saw no reason to lie about his feelings anymore. Thorpe knew the truth. "Because she's hurt. Because she nearly died three times that first night. Her family couldn't be here because Bobby's still on the hospital and they don't want him knowing what happened to her. And you... whose bed were you in when you found out, and why did you wait three more days before showing up?"

"I was sick," John snapped. "I couldn't come, though I wanted to."

"I would've come here on my death bed."

"And Charlotte could've caught it. Some concern you have for her."

Carl managed to hold his temper in check. "Do you even know what happened to her?"

"She was in a plane crash."

"No, not the event. I mean her injuries. Did you bother asking how badly she's hurt?"

"I would have, but this... woman wouldn't tell me anything."

"She would've told you everything if you'd been here from the beginning. But you didn't--"

"But I'm here now. And while I'm sure Charlotte will appreciate it very much once she wakes up, your presence is no longer necessary...or appropriate." John's lips twisted into a smirk.

"But he's the fiancé," Charlotte's doctor said. He had been summoned by a nurse who realized that the scene was beginning to escalate.

Carl clinched his fists and vowed to leave them at his sides.

John laughed. "Carl Denny is most assuredly not Charlotte's fiancé. I am. He is merely a former friend of her family's--"

"Former friend?" Carl took a step forward.

"--and as such has no legal standing here."

"Neither do you," Carl said.

"Of course I do. I'm her husband."

The blood drained from Carl's face. "Husband? Prove it," he managed to say.

"Well, we aren't technically married, but as her fiancé, I'm the only one with any rights. I'm the only one who will be seeing Charlotte. You have no reason to stay, and as I said, no rights in this matter." John, seeing the defeat in Carl's eyes, turned to Ms. Hawthorne. "Now I insist on seeing Charlotte this minute."

"Where was Charlotte's engagement ring?" Carl asked in voice so quiet John almost missed it.

"She was wearing it," John lied. In truth, it was in his suitcase, but Carl didn't need to know that.

"No, she wasn't, otherwise the hospital would have it. She wore other jewelry, but not her ring."

"Perhaps it fell off during the crash."

"The ring was snug. Mariah told me she planned to have it to resized when she got home. It couldn't have fallen off."

"Then perhaps she lost it and didn't want to tell me. What does it matter?"

Carl wasn't sure. He just had the feeling that it did.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Denny, this gentleman is correct. If you aren't engaged to Miss Lucas..." The doctor said.

"I'm here on behalf of Miss Lucas' family. I've told you, Dr. Greene, they can't be here--"

"I'll keep them well informed of Charlotte's condition. Please leave," John said. "Now, Dr. Greer--"

"Greene."

"Right. How is Charlotte?" John walked past Carl and followed the doctor into Charlotte's room.

Carl felt numb. He knew John Thorpe wouldn't call the Lucases. He doubted that John would bother with seeing Charlotte more than once or twice a day, if that. But he could do nothing but wait outside her room for now.

"Mr. Denny?"

Carl turned to see one of the younger nurses smiling at him.

"I'm going," he said.

"No, it isn't that. We...well, Ms. Hawthorne had the idea, and we agree..." The nurse looked around. "Come with me. We'll discuss this where we can't be overheard. It concerns you getting to see Miss Lucas."

The doctor filled John in on Charlotte's condition and warned him that although she was doing much better, she was still in a coma and that the first glance was the worst.

John didn't realize what that meant until he saw her. The sharp intake of breath he took at seeing her was only the slightest indication of his thoughts.

Dear God, I can't marry her. She's a monster underneath those bandages. Denny can have her for all I care.

"Her outlook is still guarded at this point," Dr. Greene said. "We don't know if she sustained permanent damage from the fall--the man who tried protecting her almost succeeded. But she's strong, Mr. Thorpe."

"After she wakes up..." John looked at her, trying not to imagine the horror that lay beneath pristine white bandages. "What happens to her?"

"She recovers, hopefully."

"No, I mean...her face. What can be done for her?"

Dr. Greene looked down at his chart so that John couldn't see the frown on his face. So the real fiancé was concerned about her looks. He remembered telling Carl that plastic surgery could restore her face. He remembered what Carl said.

"We have the techniques to repair the damage," Dr. Greene said bluntly. "It will take time, of course. But once it's over, you won't be able to tell the difference. You get ten minutes an hour with her. I'll leave you alone."

Horrified though he was by what must lay beneath the bandages, John felt vastly relieved that something could be done for her.

Perhaps even some improvement. Perhaps she'll come out looking like her sister Mariah. That would be wonderful.

John almost took her hand, but seeing it covered in bandages, he was repulsed.

But oh, the possibilities...

"You're going to be beautiful," he told her. "You'll finally be beautiful." And with that, he pulled out his cell phone and started finding the best plastic surgeon in the world.

He completely forgot his promise to call the Lucas family.

It was remarkably easy for Carl to sneak in to see Charlotte. After staying a few pretentious hours the first day, and two visits in the morning and evening, John went in search of the perfect plastic surgeon and a lovely women to make him forget his images of what Charlotte might look like under the bandages. Carl, with the aid of the entire nursing staff, Dr. Greene, and the written permission of the Lucas family (for administrative purposes), saw Charlotte on nearly as regular a basis as he had before.

He had only one close call, and since then nurses had worked at a system. If John showed, someone would knock on the door twice.

As yet, there had been no need to use it.

On the seventh day after the accident, Carl finally felt as though he had to tell her everything...even if she was in a coma. He thought it would make a good trial run for when he finally told her when she was awake.

"Charlotte," he murmured. "Oh, Charlotte, I love you."

If this were a movie, she would've awakened to hear that, he thought sadly.

"I always have loved you, since the day you stepped onto the tour bus, sat next to me, and we joked about how close you came to having to coach that toad Collins and others like him. No, you started out by saying...How can I forget...'we're the runners-up but not second best.' I always admired your attitude over winning a bronze. It helped me get over my feelings of 'only silver' so fast. Never told you that, did I?"

Carl blinked back tears. "And now...you can't hear me. I had to wait until you almost died to say all this to you. But I'm going to say it all. Maybe...maybe some small part of you will remember this when you wake up."

Carl sat in a chair next to her bed and took her bandaged hand. "I'm not sure...I..." He sighed. "You're not even conscious and I can't speak plainly to you. God! There's so much to say. But you know me, Charlotte. I can crack wise and tell tales and small talk with best of them, but when it comes to expressing feelings, I'm sort of the typical Insensitive Stone Age Guy. You'd say all men are like that. Except John."

The last sentence came out bitterly. How ironic, that Charlotte couldn't see the worst example of modern man right under her nose.

"You said John made you feel beautiful. What did he do that I didn't? Did you just always see me as a buddy? Was there ever a window of opportunity when you thought of me and thought, 'Hey, maybe there's more to Carl than I see?' Was there ever a time when your feelings were stronger? Did I ever show you how I felt? Everyone else seemed to know. Hell, even Georgiana Darcy knew."

For the first time in a week, guilt gave him a swift kick in the gut. Georgiana. He hadn't seen the girl at all since he practically booted her out of his hotel room. Not the most romantic end to a nice afternoon on the books.

I'm sorry, Georgiana.

"I've thought so much about what we could have together if you weren't so blind--not that I'm blaming you, Charlotte. It's not you. I'd never blame you. Not just you. It's me, too, for not being direct. Until now.

"The night before you told me you were marrying John, I had a dream. I don't usually remember my dreams, but I remember this one. I was in a shopping mall, wearing a tuxedo and all dressed up. But I was barefoot, so we--me and Rich, he was in the dream, too--went into the shoe store. We must've looked at a hundred pairs of shoes, and I'm thinking, surely there's something here I could wear. I turn to look out the window and I see a woman in white standing there. Her face is veiled--she's wearing a wedding dress, and I realize he's deliberately keeping me occupied.

"We finally find shoes and leave. At one end of the mall there's a setup area, lots of chairs, emerald green carpeting, a rose arch for the bride to walk through, the whole works. Rich drags me away and I see a glimpse of the woman in white again. He takes me through every damn store. He gets called away for a minute, and I'm standing in front of a flower shop. The woman..."

Carl's voice was ragged. "She stands there. She looks at me, and suddenly I can see her face behind the veil. She was you, Charlotte. I was marrying you.

"We got married that day and a limo took us to a beautiful Victorian-style house, like that one your mother wanted. I carried you across the threshold and we laughed and kissed...and we could barely get to the bedroom because..." Carl blushed, though there was no one to hear. "And after, you were laying in my arms and we were talking. I don't remember about what. But you took my face in your hands and said, 'I love you, Carl. I will love you always.' And I said to you, 'Always and forever, Charlotte?' And you laughed, and said, 'Only if you do.' And so I said --"

Two quick taps on the door pulled Carl out of his reverie. Two taps. John was coming. Praying he would be stalled for a moment, Carl rose quickly and whispered, "I love you, Charlotte. Always and forever."

With that, he opened the door a crack, got a quick nod from a passing nurse, and hurried out the door. He would be back in a couple of hours, after John was gone, to see her again.

I was marrying you.

Charlotte heard the voice speaking to her. She heard of being carried across the threshold of a Victorian-style house...kisses and laughter and so much more.

I want that. I want that...with you.

"I love you, Charlotte. Always and forever."

She thought she knew who was speaking to her, but the flash of memory caused a sharp pain in her head and she nearly lost consciousness.

The next voice she heard was one she remembered. John.

"Hello, Charlotte. It's me again. I wish I could say you were looking..." John stopped when he saw her unbandaged eye flutter open. "Charlotte?"

Oh, God...it hurt to open her eye. And it was only one eye.

What happened to me?

She didn't hear the heart monitor pick up rapidly as she started to panic about her situation.

"It's all right, darling. You're going to be okay. You're awake now, and everything is going to be fine." In her slightly blurred vision, she could see a figure and knew it had to be John. He looked to be smiling, but she couldn't be sure.

I'm awake? But why was I sleeping? What happened to my other eye?

And then she remembered everything. The plane taking off, then inexplicably crashing. The world exploding in her face. Searing pain in her hands and arms. The trapped feeling because she could smell the smoke and her hands wouldn't do what her mind screamed for them to do. She couldn't get her seatbelt unbuckled, but then suddenly she was free. Someone had cut her seatbelt away from her. She looked with her suddenly hampered vision at the woman next to her, her face a mask of horror, not moving....

Smoke. Fire. Someone screaming at her that she needed to move before the plane blew them all to hell. She wished she could remember who that was...if she'd known to begin with. Struggling through the thickening smoke, feeling like her lungs were going to burst because she was terrified to breathe, praying to God to let her live and in the next instant praying that he would put her out of this misery...then the opening was before her, someone put their arms around her and she was falling...falling...and then nothing.

Charlotte didn't see the doctors come in, quickly monitor that she was panicking severely, and administer something in her IV to calm her down. All she knew was that a dark void was claiming her again, and although she instinctively knew she shouldn't want it again, she craved the blackness with everything in her.

The last thing she remembered thinking was that John had been the person speaking to her before, about the house and the kisses and everything else. It had to have been John. Who else could it have been?

I guess he's changed. I was wrong about him.

Continued In Next Section