Beginning, Previous Section, Section VI, Next Section
"5.6, 5.6, 5.5, 5.7, 5.6, 5.6, 5.4, 5.7, 5.6."
Georgiana heard the scores for Beth Elliot, but only dimly. She was focusing on the ice, mentally preparing herself for her short program.
Trying to, anyway. And trying to forget the past week.
Seven days.
Had it only been seven days since her life had gone to hell? Seven days since she'd awakened -- energized -- in Carl's bed to hear the news that her cousin was suspected to be dead?
James was alive, thank God. He'd married Caroline in a private ceremony the day after the crash and they'd left for Greece on honeymoon.
But Lydia...
Georgiana had hated her. Not just because of the incident at the Olympics, but because of Rich. But never in her wildest dreams or secret thoughts had she wished Lydia dead. Terminal halitosis, sure. Dandruff. Acne. Hives.
Not death.
"Now taking the ice, representing the United States, Miss Georgiana Darcy."
Loud applause. Applause she didn't deserve, because the general public had read Bret Sullivan's article and had drawn the conclusion he wanted them to draw. She was grateful to him for that. But despite his article, she still knew the truth. She feared that the judges would know it also.
For Georgiana knew that she and she alone was responsible for Lydia's death.
Her music started -- "Star Wars." She was wearing a festive gold skating dress, one that Rich had jokingly called her "Cantina Girl" look.
"Wait till I do this on tour," Georgiana had said, laughing. "Fitz'll kill me when he sees the costume."
"You killed her, Georgiana. You might as well have stabbed her in the heart.
Georgiana commanded herself not to think about that. She went through the motions.
Triple lutz coming up...fairly difficult jump.
And unbidden, she thought of Lydia at Worlds the year before the Olympics. Lydia at seventeen, jumping better than Georgiana ever would.
"Hey, Georgie, watch this!"
Lydia had set up for her jump and performed the lutz with one arm over her head. She had done it perfectly, and back then, Georgiana had only known one other person who could successfully do that move.
And they'd named it after him.
As a psych-out move, it had worked perfectly. Georgiana thought Lydia intended to do it in competition, and her self-confidence had dropped.
"Hey, Georgie, watch this!"
Georgiana prepared for her jump, leaped...
...watch this...
...and landed perfectly. She heard the crowd cheering.
How did I manage to do that?
Series of spins now, and another memory, of Lydia's envious stare at the U.S. Nationals after Georgiana had come out of a perfect sit spin. Georgiana remembered that someone had once said Lydia had the artistry of a piece of cardboard.
Oh, God, what a thing to remember now.
Georgiana got a brief pause after the spins. Her eyes searched the crowd.
She'd known, even before she saw him, that Rich was there. As he hadn't spoken to her since the fight four days ago, she wondered why.
Her body automatically continued skating. Her mind was elsewhere.
"She wanted to go home because of you. She died because of what you did. You killed her, Georgiana."
Jump combination, triple toe loop, triple flip. Mechanical. Automatic. Then footwork.
Lizzy was sitting with Rich. Lizzy and Fitz had won their competition. They would return to Chicago on Sunday for Lydia's memorial service, along with Rich.
Lizzy hadn't spoken to her since the day of the crash.
No one had spoken to her since the crash. Fitz was too busy consoling Lizzy. Rich hated her. Carl was in the hospital --
Double axel, a jump Georgiana to do in her sleep.
Georgiana had heard through the grapevine that Charlotte had awakened. She was happy for Carl, because she hoped he'd tell Charlotte he'd loved her.
Final spin, hold the final pose...finished.
The crowd was applauding again. Georgiana smiled as she'd been taught. She made her bows and trying not to think about the cold, dark eyes boring holes into her.
She knew if she could see Rich, those eyes would accuse her -- of doing well instead of failing; of acting innocent instead of being guilty.
Of being alive when Lydia was dead.
She skated off the ice, accepted a gentle hug from Edward, and awaited her scores.
"And now the technical marks for Miss Georgiana Darcy: 5.8, 5.8, 5.7, 5.9, 5.8, 5.6,5.8, 5.8, 5.7."
There were some boos for the 5.6, but Georgiana knew the scores were accurate. And she knew her artistic marks would be lower. She hadn't been as good artistically as she normally was.
...the artistry of a piece of cardboard...
"5.6, 5.7, 5.6, 5.5, 5.6, 5.7, 5.6, 5.8, 5.7."
"Second place, behind Catie Morland," Edward murmured in her ear.
"Just what I need -- Lady Cat gloating."
"We both know why you did it, Georgiana."
But Catherine de Bourgh had been wrong. Georgiana knew why she'd done it. Catherine hadn't had a clue.
"You can blow her away tomorrow night," he said.
Georgiana headed back to the locker room. A few people -- the bubbly Catie included -- told her she'd skated well. She accepted their praise but didn't strike up conversation. She just walked into the room.
Fitz went to talk to Georgiana, knowing that Lizzy and Rich needed time alone.
Rich handed Lizzy a jeweler's box. "Here."
Lizzy opened it to find Rich's Olympic gold medal. "What is this for?"
"For Lydia. Put it...put it in her...let her have it. She wanted one so much."
Catching a glimpse of her husband, and remembering George Wickham, she shuddered. "She just went to the wrong lengths to get it," she said.
Rich frowned. "That doesn't matter anymore, Liz. None of it matters. She was eighteen. Just a kid. You said this yourself."
"I know."
"I've got a chance to win another. She never will. It's only right that she get one, even if she'll never know."
In the week since Lydia's death, Lizzy had come out of her funk and guilt. Rich was the main reason, because she'd been present when he'd seen Georgiana for the first time after the crash.
Although a small part of her had wanted to scream at the girl just as Rich had, she knew it was the wrong thing to do. Lydia had made her own choice to go home, and while it was influenced by Georgiana's interview, it was still her decision. And it wasn't as though Georgiana had done it deliberately to send Lydia home. Lizzy figured that Georgiana had answered the foolhardy question on the spur of the moment, because she knew Rich was falling for Lydia and she was jealous.
Even if she had done it deliberately, Georgiana couldn't have known the plane would crash. No one could've predicted that. The guilt Lizzy had seen in her eyes confirmed that she wouldn't have wanted this to happen.
"Liz?"
Lizzy looked at Rich. "Sorry. Wool gathering," she said.
"Don't worry. I've done that a lot in the past week."
Lizzy looked down at the gold medal in her hand. She didn't have one herself, and Lydia had never had a chance to compete for one. She'd withdrawn before the short program three years ago.
"She couldn't have won a medal if she were still alive, Rich," Lizzy said softly. "She --"
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, the pain in his eyes turning a knife within her.
"I don't know. I'm sorry. I just..." Lizzy shut the case. "Lydia would've appreciated it."
"How's your father?" Rich asked. "How's he putting up with Frances?"
"The same way he always has, one day at a time."
"I read in the paper that Frances has already joined a class-action suit again TransAtlantic."
"Yes, she did. Dad thinks it's pointless, and he's right. No amount of money can bring her back. But at the same time, I can see why Mom's wanting to do it."
"Of course. Frances' motives are always crystal clear," Rich said bitterly. "It gives her an excuse, another person to blame for Lydia's death. It's so she doesn't have to look in the mirror every morning and realize that if she'd been a little more understanding, if her ambition and indifference hadn't gotten in the way, her daughter would still be alive."
"Rich..." Lizzy blinked back tears. "It was an accident. No one deliberately set out to murder her. If she were sitting at home right now--"
"But she isn't, Liz, and it's because of Frances Bennet and Georgiana Darcy. And that bastard of a reporter from the Tribune. Did you read his article today? A pathetic apology, I think. He's just one more person trying to dodge their role in this."
"Yes, I read it. Did you?" Before Rich could answer, Lizzy put up a hand to stop him. "He made a good point. You were furious with Lydia when she admitted to trying to hurt Georgiana. You supported Georgiana--you saved her career."
"I wish--"
"Don't say it!" Lizzy cried. "You know it's a lie. Two weeks ago, she was one of your closest friends."
"Her killing Lydia changes all that."
"Did Lydia ever once apologize to Georgiana for what happened? Did she ever tell anyone that she was sorry?"
"She was."
"But three years after it happened, she was still saying she'd had little to do with it, and that was a lie. Maybe she'd admitted it in private, but she never publicly said, 'I tried to injure Georgiana and I'm sorry for it.' She certainly never said it to Georgiana."
Rich clenched his jaw and said nothing.
"I know the two of you were growing close--"
"We loved each other."
"You didn't know her well enough to love her."
"What would you know about it, Liz? Lydia and I are completely different from you and Fitz, and I want to remind you that you've been quoted as saying you fell in love with him in two weeks."
"You can't let what happened to Lydia blind you to the truth, Richard. Just because she's dead doesn't make her a saint, and it doesn't excuse or erase the mistakes she made. The reality is that she never would win a gold medal because she'd been unofficially banned from skating."
"So what happens to Georgiana because of what she said--what drove Lydia to her death?"
"Would you stop saying that like Georgiana murdered her? If what she said had caused Lydia to commit suicide, then I would understand--"
"Georgiana said it. Lydia is dead. That's all that matters." He turned to look out onto the ice, where the last skater was performing. "You never answered my question, Liz. What do you think is going to happen to her?"
"Probably what happened to Nancy after 1994. The world finds out she's human. But what Georgiana did is nothing like what Lydia did--"
"Nothing happened to her because of Lydia--"
"Sure--nothing except nightmares and psychiatric bills--"
"Excuse me for not being upset because she loses sleep. Lydia lost everything."
"--and if you hadn't been there, her career would've ended that day."
"If Lydia was unofficially banned for plotting to hurt Georgiana, then Georgiana should be officially banned for killing Lydia."
"A plane crash killed Lydia!" Lizzy snapped. "Whether it was pilot error or mechanical failure, TransAtlantic Flight 716 killed her. She didn't have to go home. She could've come to me or Dad."
"Could she? To see your father, she would've had to deal with your mother. To see you...well, you married Fitz."
"And as you told me when we talked about this before I married him, it shouldn't matter. She was still my sister. We'd settled our differences. She--"
"Then why are you defending Georgiana?"
"Because it wasn't...you make her sound like a cold-blooded killer when all she did was answer a question. It was wrong of her to do even before this, but just because Lydia went home--"
"No, Lydia died."
"That's the tragic part, and it's something that can't be taken back. But if you thought for a minute that she'd run away when you went to the rink to confront Georgiana, would you have left her?"
"Do you think I'm not beating myself up because I didn't stay with her?"
"It's silly to blame yourself because you couldn't predict what she would do. She made a thoughtless if honest answer to a question she's answered with lies for so long. She's young and foolish--"
"And she loves me," Rich sneered.
"Yes."
"She said that to get back at Lydia because she knew I loved her. She wanted Lydia to leave--"
"The only person who knows why Georgiana answered the question truthfully is Georgiana. The interview wasn't planned, nor did she know the question would come. Maybe she said it to get back at Lydia, to get her to leave. But she couldn't have known what would happen, and you know, deep down, that she never would've wanted her dead."
"I can't believe this. Lydia was your sister. You, of all people, should--"
"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't feel. You've turned her into a saint because you thought you loved her. You've glorified her because you were together for so short a time that every moment seems precious and beautiful. I've been there, Rich. After a while you see things in a more honest perspective and you learn to deal with that person's imperfections. You'll never get that chance with Lydia, and that is tragic. But if you think about everything that happened between them, if you remember the folly of being eighteen--the same age Lydia was three years ago--you'll realize that Georgiana--"
"You just want to exonerate Georgiana's guilt because it looks bad on you and Fitz."
"Fitz exonerated Lydia three years ago for the same reason." Lizzy sighed.
Rich shook his head. "It's not the same."
"Rich--"
"It isn't! And you're not going to convince me otherwise. You're standing behind a girl with blood on her hands, Liz. Even if she didn't fly the plane." He stood up. "And if you stand behind her, then you're against me...and dishonoring your sister's memory."
"That's not fair, Rich, and you know it. If Lydia were still alive--"
"But since she isn't, we'll never know what might've happened, will we?" Rich looked at her with empty eyes. "I guess I know where you stand."
Without giving her a backward glance, he left his oldest friend standing there alone.
But he'd known even before that. A flash of premonition hit him the day of the crash, at the exact moment Charlotte's plane crashed. He'd known, even then, that his oldest daughter was in pain. The moment he was released from the hospital in Seattle, he booked a flight to London against the advice of doctors and his family. Since he was determined to see his daughter and reassure himself that she was still alive, his family decided to come with him.
Carl saw them first, as he'd gone to get a cup of coffee and wait out John's visit.
"Bobby!" he exclaimed. "What are all of you doing here?"
"Carl!" He was immediately hugged by the Lucas sisters. Carl savored the feeling of kinship he got around Charlotte's family, as he always did. As soon as they released him, he hugged Charlotte's mother, then extended his hand for Bobby to shake. Bobby was having none of that, enveloping him in a hug.
"I wondered why no one was home the last time I called. I was afraid that Bobby--"
"I am fine," Bobby said.
"You should be in bed, Papa," Sam said. "They probably won't let you see Charlotte. You might make her sick."
"Then I'll wear one of those silly masks, but damned if I'm setting foot outside this hospital without seeing my daughter."
"Papa, such language," Amy said.
"How is she?" Deborah asked. "Any improvement?"
"She's doing better than she was earlier this week, but she still hasn't awakened from the coma. The doctors are being very encouraging. They think she'll wake up any day. But..." He sighed. "She's got a long way to go. She had to have surgery on both arms and legs. She may never regain full use of them. And her face..."
Mrs. Lucas made a choked sound.
"The doctors said a plastic surgeon could reconstruct her face...back to the way it was. However, Dr. Greene told me that John has hired..."
Before he could tell them what John wanted, the door to Charlotte's room opened and John appeared. "Doctor! Doctor! She's awake!"
A nurse hurried over, admonishing him to keep his voice down. Carl and the Lucases rushed to her door as well.
John focused initially on Carl. "Denny, I thought I warned you to stay away from here. Don't make me call the police and ruin any sort of career you think you have."
"Carl is here at our request," Bobby said coldly, drawing John's attention to the fact that they had arrived. "Had it not been for him, we would not know whether Charlotte was alive or dead."
"Calling them must've slipped your mind," Carl added, his voice colder than Bobby's.
"Probably wasn't hard, as slippery as his mind is," Mariah muttered.
"I was arranging for the best doctors to come care for your daughter. Forgive me if in my quest to get Charlotte the best medical care possible I forgot to call. But she's alive...and she was awake just a minute ago."
Dr. Greene had been found and was examining Charlotte, who had awakened again.
"Charlotte?" he asked softly, looking at the one recognizable feature on her face--a gray eye. It was staring calmly at him. "I see Mr. Thorpe wasn't imagining it."
Charlotte was trying to figure out how this stranger knew her name.
"I'm Dr. Greene. I've been taking care of you for the past week. I don't want you to worry if you can't move or talk."
Oh God! I'm paralyzed! Charlotte mentally screamed, and the monitor fluttered again.
"Don't panic, Charlotte. You're going to be fine."
John...where's John?
"Your family arrived, I think. They'll be in here in just a little while."
But Papa's sick.
"And of course, Mr. Denny. He's been very good about coming to see you every day."
Carl? Why is Carl here? What about John? Where did John go?
Charlotte felt the void claiming her again. She tried to fight it, but hadn't the strength.
By the following day, Charlotte had fully regained consciousness. She'd seen all of her family, though communication was impossible. She'd seen Carl, whose presence she still hadn't figured out, and John. She'd been especially glad to see John. She remembered the first words she'd heard when she woke up. If she hadn't heard him say them, she wouldn't have believed he'd said them.
She remembered the fight they'd had before she left. It had been so silly, really. And now, having lived through a crash herself, she understood his fear of flying--and his desire to have her stay.
A sorry sight we'll be when we finally have to leave London. Neither of us will want to board the damn plane! If she'd been able to, the thought would've made her laugh.
On the second day after awakening, Dr. Greene told her in detail what had happened to her body. Discovering that she had no teeth, no hair, and was barely hanging onto her eye had terrified her. She'd required a sedative after that, for while she'd never been a vain person, she did value the few good looks she'd had. She was also terrified of losing John, for she knew he would never stick around with a woman whose face would look so hideous.
When she woke up again, the doctors reassured her that John had found the world's top plastic surgeon to repair her face as soon as Dr. Greene declared her medically stable for the surgery.
"They can do amazing things, these doctors," Bobby said to that. Charlotte wished she could've laughed with her sisters when her father had first appeared wearing that silly mask over his face, though she was deeply touched by his determination to see her. "And Charlotte will look exactly the same?"
John beamed. "She'll look even better," he replied. "Dr. Lingstrom has seen pictures of Charlotte taken before the crash. We've discussed ways to improve on Mother Nature. Charlotte will look younger and prettier after the surgery. Dr. Lingstrom calls her his masterpiece."
The heart monitor sped up and tears formed in Charlotte's eye. She was absolutely horrified by John's words but had no other way of indicating her state of mind.
The family, fortunately, was much more vocal.
"Absolutely not!" Deborah snapped, horrified that John would suggest such a thing.
"She's a person, not a Picasso painting," Amy added, her former good opinion of John lost forever in his thoughtless words about Charlotte's looks--in front of a fragile Charlotte, no less!
"You'll not touch a hair on my daughter's head if that's your intention!" Bobby bellowed.
"Please, don't raise your voice. We do have other patients," Dr. Greene said.
"Listen, this is for Charlotte's sake. God has granted her an opportunity she might not have taken otherwise. She can have a brand-new face."
"She's had nearly thirty years to decide whether or not she wanted to do anything like what you're describing," Sam said. "Despite judges and other important bigwigs in skating who encouraged her to get plastic surgery, she never did it. She said she'd win on her talent and not her looks."
"Look at her," Mariah added. "She's freaking out! She doesn't want this."
Dr. Greene had started worrying about Charlotte's condition but didn't want to sedate her again. However, as her heart rate continued to race, he knew he had no other choice. He pushed the call button for a nurse.
"She's excited! Look at the gleam in her eye."
"Those are tears, you twit," Mariah said. "And since she can't voice her opinion, I think we should wait until she can."
"Impossible. Dr. Lingstrom told me that if we wait too long, Charlottes' face will heal and then the surgery--"
"I wonder what would've happened if we hadn't been here," Sam said. "You'd have done it when she couldn't protest. It's immoral."
"It ought to be illegal," Amy added.
"I'm doing this for Charlotte. This is all for--"
"Doctor?" Mrs. Hawthorne appeared.
"Miss Lucas needs a sedative. She's become upset."
"Yes, sir."
Dr. Greene turned to the family. "The decision, Mr. Thorpe, is Charlotte's family's to make. As the two of you aren't married--"
"But I'm paying for the surgery! Shouldn't it be my decision?"
"I'm afraid not, sir."
"And if it comes to that, I shall pay for my daughter's operation," Bobby said.
"If you knew how often Charlotte expressed her deepest wish to me--that she could be beautiful--you wouldn't stand in the way of this. This is really for the best. She's always been talented, but just imagine how much more money she'll make once she comes back if she had the looks to go with her talent."
But I never really minded how I looked. And you always told me I was beautiful and didn't need improvement. You made me believe you meant it.
"She is beautiful," a new voice said, and though he wasn't in her line of vision, Charlotte knew that it was Carl.
"For God's sake, Denny, when will you get the message? You're not wanted here," John snapped. "Dr. Greene, as he's not a family member, I insist that--"
"He is too a family member," Sam said possessively.
It was the last thing Charlotte remembered, for the nurse had returned with the sedative and she was out fast.
Though Charlotte was no longer awake, the conversation continued.
"If that's what you think Charlotte would want, you're nuts," Carl said. "It's bad enough that she nearly died, was in a coma for a week, then wakes up to find out that her face was pulverized. The last thing that would help her is to know that when she's finally well again, she'll have a stranger's face instead of her own looking at her in the mirror."
"It wouldn't be a stranger's face. She'd look more like her sisters."
"She looks like her sisters enough now. Charlotte's always been distinctive and she likes it that way. There's no way you're going to do it to her, whether you pay or not."
"I meant what I said. I'll find my own doctor," Bobby said.
John looked at the united front against him. Damn Carl Denny! "Very well," he said. "I'll inform Dr. Lingstrom that he's only to restore Charlotte to normal."
"Restore," Sam muttered. "He makes her sound like the Sistine Chapel now."
"I think this conversation should continue outside," Dr. Greene said. "Miss Lucas is resting, and she's been upset enough for one day."
Everyone filed out of the room, though the conversation was essentially over.
"I was marrying you."
Charlotte lay awake on the fourth night after waking up from her coma. She thought of that voice, the dream he'd said she'd had.
It had been John...hadn't it?
It had to have been. Carl was the only other person it could've conceivably been, but he didn't have clearance to see her despite Sam's declaration that he was a member of the family.
Besides, Carl didn't love her.
"Charlotte?"
Charlotte closed her eye, even though she knew who it was. He'd done this twice---sneaked in to see her when no one else was around. She supposed it was the only way, because he wasn't family.
The last two times, though, she'd suspected Carl had had something he wanted to say but hadn't because she'd been awake. She was amazed, however, that she'd been able to remember all that and close her eyes. Now, perhaps, she'd get to hear his words.
"You're sleeping, I see. Just as well, I guess, because the last couple of times I've been here...anyway, I spoke to Dr. Greene and that new doctor of John's, Dr. Lingstrom. You don't have to worry, Charlotte. Your father and I have made certain that when this is all over, you'll be yourself again. You might look a little younger, but you'll still be Charlotte Lucas."
Charlotte was relieved. John had tried to persuade her to change her mind, but she'd refused by blinking her eyes twice--her code for "no."
She'd been doing a lot of blinking around John lately.
"Charlotte...one of these days, I'm going to be able to tell you all the stuff I said to you while you were sleeping. You'll be awake, and--"
"Carl?" The door opened, and Sam walked in. "You'll get in trouble if they find you here."
Damn! Sammie, when I'm finally out of this bed I'm gonna kill you.
"Then play chickie for me. If you see John or a doctor coming, tap on the door twice. Do not listen in on the conversation."
"What, are you going to practice a soliloquy from Hamlet? 'Frailty, thy name is John...'" Sam laughed.
"Out, brat."
"I'm going, I'm going." Sam's voice was coming from the direction of the doorway now. "Hey, Carl?"
"Yeah."
"You really should wait till she's awake to tell her all this."
"Good bye, Samantha Sue."
The sound of the door opening and shutting. Charlotte smiled mentally. Good old Sam, the joker. She'd been so wonderful the other day, insisting that Carl stay. That Carl was family.
She knew how much family meant to him. Charlotte wished his date with Mariah had gone better.
No, you don't. You were jealous as hell when he picked her up, remember?
"Charlotte...I meant what I said the other day. Not that you remember it, of course, and not that you'll remember any of this later. But if you marry John..." Carl paused. "If you marry John, you'll rip out my heart...you..."
Carl?
"I love you, Charlotte. Always and forever. Nothing will change that."
Always and forever.
Dear God, it was Carl.
Charlotte felt dizzy, though she was lying down. It was Carl who had said he'd dreamed of marrying her, Carl who had dreamed of a Victorian house and love and laughter...
But it was John who was there when I woke up. Surely I'm wrong about this. It couldn't have been Carl.
"I know there's not a chance in hell that you'll ever love me, but..."
"And of course, Mr. Denny. He's been very good about coming to see you every day."
That was what the doctor had said when she'd first met him, meaning that Carl had been there, and he'd seen her. She thought of what John had said after the first voice left.
"Hello, Charlotte. It's me again."
Why, if John had said those things before, would he have said hello again?
Maybe I've got the time wrong. Maybe he said it and I zonked out and later he came back.
"I had another dream, Charlotte. It was like my first one, where we got married. But I saw so much more in this one. It was like I could see us together in forty years, with our kids and grandkids all around us. All of them had a special feature that's yours alone, your eyes or your smile...and it was so peaceful that I wanted to cry, but it was only a dream. It was so beautiful, Charlotte. If it were real I would thank God every day that someone like you could love me. And in my dream, you looked just like you did before this accident.
"John..." he said with a disgusted sigh, "is still furious that we won't let him improve you. He dragged me into the chapel and told me to butt out of your life. 'Clearly she never wanted you, because you were so blatant that she had to have seen it,' he said. 'Hell, if Dr. Lingstrom hadn't told me the damage could be repaired, she might've had to settle for you.'" Carl's voice turned colder. "He said, 'She's hideous under there. I can barely stand to be in the same room with her because I have nightmares about what she might look like underneath all those bandages.'"
"She is beautiful. Carl had said those words just yesterday, when John had tried to persuade her family to let the surgeon alter her looks. He hadn't used the past tense, Charlotte realized. He'd said, "She is beautiful."
And he'd meant it.
Charlotte had no doubts at all now that Carl had been the first voice she'd heard that day. She also had no doubts that Carl was telling the truth about John's comments. Carl thought she was asleep and thus he could speak freely.
Oh, Carl...Carl. Why couldn't you say that to me before this happened? I would've...I would've...
Yes, Charlotte. How would you have reacted?
Charlotte didn't know the answer to that.
Carl kept talking, and she kept listening, her heart in turmoil. Of all the times not to be able to speak...to question, to wonder, to respond.
Carl's gentle voice, talking of the past and happier times, lulled her to sleep.
Two Months Later.
Rachmaninoff's "Eighteenth Variation" filled the frigid air as Lizzy warmed up by skating around the ice. Fitz was still lacing up his skates, and Edward was consulting with Lizzy's father about the new program they were putting together for next season--the crucial program, the Olympic program.
Things seem to be back to normal, Lizzy thought as she prepared to execute her triple toe loop.
But thinking that things were back to normal forced her to think of Lydia, and that threw off her concentration. Lizzy over-rotated and crashed to the ice.
"Ouch," she hissed before getting up again.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Fitz called.
"Just fine," she replied. "I'm going to change my name to Zamboni, though."
The men laughed, and Lizzy skated slowly toward Fitz.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Fitz murmured.
Lizzy smiled. He'd been the best of husbands since Lydia's death, though having your sister-in-law die so soon after the wedding wasn't exactly good tidings to your future. If she sometimes wished he wouldn't look at her as though she were a cracked eggshell, she never told him. She knew if their situations were reversed, she'd act the same way towards him.
"Yes." Lizzy looked around, frowning. "Where's Georgiana?"
"I don't know. She didn't answer my knock on the locker room door. She might've gone back to sleep."
Fitz smiled. "That used to drive Catherine crazy, but the doctors told her it was normal."
"She had Georgiana see a doctor because she was tired?"
"Of course. She was a de Bourgh student, one of the best. If she was tired, there had to be a reason other than the fact that she was practicing over twelve hours a day."
Lizzy chuckled. "Fitz..."
"Yes?"
"Have you noticed the way she's been acting lately? She's moody, distant, scared and tentative...I mean, it's almost as though she's regressing. She seems more like she was at fifteen."
Fitz stepped onto the ice. "You of all people know why. She finished second at Worlds despite a flawless performance. The press has been sniping at her for that article before the plane..." He didn't finish. "And I don't really like the look of that Tribune reporter, despite what he writes."
"Bret Sullivan? Why?"
"I don't like the way he's always hanging around here."
"I thought it was kind of sweet. It's obvious he likes Georgiana."
"She's too young for him."
"Fitz, you're forgetting something."
"What?"
"The age difference between them is the same as it is between us."
"Yes, but...but..."
"Georgiana's an adult."
"She's eighteen. She's too young for anything serious."
Wanna bet? But Lizzy wasn't about to tell Fitz about Rich and Georgiana's feelings about him.
"At some point, you're gonna have to let her go."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Fitz was glaring at her.
Lizzy wasn't about to back down. "You've been wonderful to her. You take care of her, protect her. You practically raised her when your parents didn't give a damn. You've been a father to her in ways most people wouldn't understand. And your desire to protect her has its foundation for good reason--she's nearly had her career ended twice by the same man. You did a wonderful job, Fitz. You can look at Georgiana and say, 'Here's a bright, wonderful woman, and I had a lot to do with that.' I hope our children turn out to be just like her."
"Flattery isn't answering my question."
"Maybe this will. At some point, every parent has to realize that they've done everything they can and let the child learn on their own from there. Otherwise they never learn to be independent at all. You've been so proud of Georgiana gaining confidence over the past three years, but at some point, if you don't let her live her own life, she's going to resent you."
"So you're saying I should throw her to the wolves? Let her stay out until all hours of the night? Run around with strange men?"
"I don't think she'd do that. I think Georgiana is level-headed enough that she wouldn't do something dangerous, and as for staying out late with strange men, she never does that. She falls asleep at nine-thirty and practices nearly all the time. When would she have time?"
"She found time two months ago. She never told me where she was the day..." Again, Fitz didn't want to finish. "She had alcohol on her breath, Lizzy. She looked like she'd climbed out of someone's bed when she came in."
"I don't remember seeing her like that."
"You'd gone to find your parents by then, to tell them that Lydia was...that she'd been in the crash. You didn't see her as I did that day. If it hadn't been for the fact that I was so worried about you, I would've demanded that she tell me who it was she spent that afternoon with."
Despite everything, Lizzy wanted to say, Good for Georgiana, but that would only infuriate her husband.
"I wouldn't have told you no matter how much you demanded to know. It was none of your business."
Fitz and Lizzy turned to see Georgiana standing at the edge of the ice. She looked pale.
"Georgiana--"
"No, Fitz. For once, listen to me. I love you, and I'm very appreciative of everything you've done for me over the years. Without you, I never would've skated again after what George Wickham did to me. And I wouldn't have succeeded as well as I have without your support. Your love and support are things I still need and will always hope to have."
"Of course I'll--"
"I'm glad to hear you say that. But you need to understand that I have to live my own life. I can't let you run it, and I shouldn't have to tell you everything I do."
"But--"
"I know I'm young. I don't expect you to step aside and not do anything to help me if I need it. I just want to be able to bring home a boy--a man--home and introduce him to you without you being rude to them."
"I've always been civilized to your dates."
"Sure you have. That's why when you met Adam Parker you were carrying Grandpa's prized dueling pistol, and then you told Freddy Wentworth that if he tried anything you'd slice his back with your skate blades, and then you showed up at my senior prom to glower at Thomas Price all night."
Lizzy chuckled at the memories.
"You stay out of this," Fitz hissed at her.
"Bret Sullivan was the only reporter to have a decent thing to say about me after Lydia died. Had it not been for his column about how Lydia and me, no one else in this world would've given a damn at Worlds. He's been very good to me, and I'm not going to let you scare him away like you've scared everyone else."
"Was he the man you were with that day?"
"I was with--" Georgiana's mouth snapped shut. "I told you, it's none of your business. And I'm telling you this now. Stay out of my life. If I want to go out drinking, or spend the afternoon in a hotel having sex, or stay out late with my friends, then I will, and you can't do a thing about it."
"I'm not going to let you run wild. Look at what happened to--" Fitz nearly bit his tongue and looked at his wife, then looked back at his sister.
Georgiana's face was the color of chalk. Before Fitz could say anything, she ran back toward the dressing room.
Fitz turned back to Lizzy. She had grabbed her skate guards and was slipping them on.
"Dad? Ed? I think we'd better call it a day," she said coldly.
"Elizabeth, I'm sorry," Fitz said.
"I know you are. I just don't feel like skating today." She stepped off the ice. "Fitz, you'd better be careful. Being overprotective is almost as bad as being overindulgent. If you keep Georgiana under your thumb, she's going to find ways to rebel that will make Lydia's antics look like child's play."
In Chicago, Bret Sullivan lived in a tiny apartment in The Loop. When he'd first moved in, he'd hated it because it was so small and he'd hoped for something better. But the place had grown on him, and now he couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
He was a night person by nature, although he'd recently taken to getting up earlier than usual because Georgiana did, which was why the phone call that had come at nine in the morning hadn't awakened him.
"Hello?" He'd been cheerful, thinking it was Georgiana calling to ask where he was.
"Hello, Sully." It was him.
Bret had finally figured out who this person was, to his great horror. He called every once in a while, demanding updates, wanting to know everything about Georgiana...what she was doing, what she was thinking, how she'd been since the plane crash.
"What do you want?"
"What do I always want? To catch up on how dear little Georgiana is doing."
"She's fine, just like she was yesterday when you called."
"You know, for a man who has so much to lose here, I'd think you'd be a little more polite to me on the telephone."
"I'm almost to the point where I don't give a damn what you do or say. I just want you to leave me--and Georgiana--alone."
"You're willing to go to jail now? With one little phone call, the police in Peoria would know all about your sister's--"
"Stop!" Bret put a hand to his head, which was throbbing wildly. "It was an accident. Why can't you let it go?"
"Because it wasn't just 'an accident,' Sully. It was murder, and you know it."
"No!"
There was a cold chuckle on the other end of the line just as someone pounded hard on his door. Bret flinched and dropped the phone. He picked it up quickly and hung it up. He rushed to his door just as the person outside pounded again.
Outside stood Georgiana Darcy.
"Georgiana!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"I had to get away," she said. "My brother's driving me crazy."
Bret noticed that she had a large bag slung over her shoulder and was carrying a suitcase. "I hate to tell you this, Georgiana, but I don't really have room for a guest."
"I wasn't planning on staying. I'm planning on taking a break from skating--and my brother."
"How are you going to do that?"
"I'm going on a road trip before...before it's too late. Care to join me?"
"I can't. I have stories to write, deadlines..."
"Come on. You were complaining to me the other day that you hate your job, you haven't had an article included in over a week, and your secret ambitions are to travel the country and write a novel. Who knows? Maybe you'll find your inspiration on the road."
Bret was warming to the idea, except...
"I don't have any money," he said flatly.
"I realize that, looking at this place," Georgiana said with the first smile she'd had all day, knowing how he felt about his apartment.
"Hey! It's not much, but I love it."
"Don't worry about it. I don't even have a place of my own. I have to envy yours." She sighed. "And if you don't have a macho problem with me taking care of the bills while we're on the road, I'll pay your way."
"If you've got money, why don't you get an apartment of your own?"
"Because Fitz would still know where I'm at. He could come by or call whenever he liked. I want to be as far away from him as I can get for a while." Georgiana looked at him. "So...are you in, or are you out?"
Bret thought about the phone call. He didn't know how long Georgiana intended to be gone. Maybe it would be long enough for the blackmailer to give up his scheme--oh, Bret knew what that was, too. He wasn't supposed to know, but a he was a journalist and once he'd figured out who it was, he'd uncovered the reason for it. Nothing good, because these sort of things never were. But if they were on the run, on the road, no one could find them...
And he would be free, at least for a while.
"I'm in."
Rich stepped off the airplane with quaking legs. He'd been a nervous wreck the entire time the plane had been in the air, and he suspected he would be for some time--at least until his nightmares receded. And he knew that he'd never again board a plane without fearing that he would die as Lydia had.
Rich had opted not to go to the funeral service in Chicago for three reasons: he was scared to fly so soon after Lydia's death, his fight with Lizzy, and his deep animosity toward Frances. The night after his fight with Lizzy, he'd left London and hadn't picked up a paper in two months. He'd traveled throughout England, then crossed the English Channel by boat into France. He'd been to France before, but he'd never really felt as though he'd had the chance to see the country. From France he headed towards Italy, and fell so in love with the country that he vowed to live there after he retired from skating.
There were many days that he considered announcing his retirement when he returned to the States and moving to Italy right away.
There were many more days that he considered not even returning home. On those days, Rich thought about what he'd wanted out of his career in figure skating, and he realized that he'd achieved everything. He'd competed in two Olympics, won a gold medal, made a lot of money. He'd been the first man to successfully land a quadruple lutz in competition. He'd found success. Given everything he'd done, what more was there?
Deep in his heart, Rich knew the answer. What was "there" was the drive to compete. What was "there" was his love of skating. When he realized that, he knew he'd be going home, but not before laying a few ghosts to rest. Rich had thought a lot about Lydia, and Georgiana, and then his awful words to Lizzy the last time he'd seen her.
Making Liz choose a side in the whole mess was a ploy that Frances Bennet would've pulled, and if there was one person Rich didn't want to be compared to, it was his soon-to-be former coach. It had been unfair of him, and Rich felt bad about it. He'd been tempted to pick up the phone fifty times and call her to apologize, but he hadn't been able to do it. Rich realized that he needed more time to think about everything else before being able to apologize, because if he tried to talk to her they'd only end up fighting again.
Before he went home and apologized, he knew he was going to have to forgive Georgiana for her role in Lydia's death.
Rich gave a lot of thought to what Liz had said that night. He knew that she was right about Lydia not being perfect--hell, even in the brief weeks they'd been together things hadn't been the greatest. Of course, she'd been melancholy about leaving skating and her mother's refusal to speak to her, not to mention her lingering hurt about not being invited to her sister's wedding. And he'd been tense about the upcoming competition, preparing as hard as he could, worrying about the various minor aches and pains he'd tried not to be bothered by.
He wondered if maybe Liz hadn't been right, that things might not have worked out if Lydia had lived. When Rich thought of that, he remembered the days when things were good between them, like when Lydia had visited the rink while he'd been practicing and they'd clowned around, or some of the sightseeing they'd done around London. He remembered how he'd come home from a long day of practice and she'd be waiting for him with some little dinner cooked--she wasn't the greatest cook, but she'd tried.
Rich thought also about Lydia at eighteen, and how foolish she'd been. Hell, he thought about how foolish he'd been at those Olympic games. He'd nearly knocked himself out of the competition by getting into a fight with Fitz, damn near killed the poor guy. He wasn't the most mature person he'd ever seen back then.
So why had he been so harsh to Georgiana? Because he'd saved her career and felt that she'd repaid him poorly? Because she'd been so foolish and it had been so costly?
Partly. And his confusing feelings for Lydia hadn't helped.
At long last, he'd been able to feel a small forgiveness for the poor girl. Lord knew, she'd been through a lot in her eighteen years of life and yet was so sheltered from the real world that perhaps it was only natural for her to have a crush on him. He'd been a knight in shining armor to a girl who didn't get the chance for much else--due to her skating, and in part due to her brother. Rich could see why she had fixated on him. He could see why Georgiana had answered the last question. He could see the desperation of an eighteen-year-old girl who wanted to be noticed.
And he could forgive her, even if forgetting was going to take much more time.
It was time to come home.
"Very good, Charlotte. You're making terrific progress."
Charlotte sighed. If she heard the words "terrific progress" one more time, she'd scream. They were all she'd heard in the last two months.
The plastic surgery had gone well. Most of the bandages were gone, though she had yet to see the results. Her hair was growing back nicely, though it was still far too short. The bandages were gone from her hands and arms, and they were healing well. She'd even started physical therapy. That was torture.
But the doctors continued to be encouraging, even if she didn't think being able to hold a rubber ball was something to get excited about. She supposed she should be, since it meant her coordination was coming back.
Charlotte knew the truth. She was impatient. She wanted to talk to Carl, and she wanted to do it right away. She feared that if she waited, he might change his mind about loving her.
What nonsense. He's loved you this long, hasn't he? He's not going to change his mind now.
But she feared he might, especially in light of John's recent behavior. Since the surgery, John had been in and out of her room all the time, cheerfully making plans as though the days before her surgery hadn't taken place. She had wondered for a while if he hadn't gone behind her family's back and had her modified, but she decided that not even John would have done that. For one thing, her father would've torn him apart if he had.
But John was also acting as though they would be getting married soon after she was released from the hospital, and that gave her cause for concern. He was tormenting Carl every day--and she knew he did it. Carl had told her about all the smirks and slights, though he'd thought her asleep at the time. While it didn't sound as though John's visions of her future deterred Carl from his feelings, she worried that it might.
It would be just my luck to finally realize that I'm crazy about Carl only to have him decide that we'll never be together thanks to John.
Everything made sense to Charlotte now. No wonder Carl had been so depressed at Lizzy's wedding. And oh God, all the stupid things she'd said to him there! All that talk about needing to find him someone! She'd thought that some witch had broken his heart and she had hated whoever it was...when all along, she'd been the one.
I must be the blindest idiot walking today.
And even more so because she'd been in love with him for some time. She'd always hoped they'd get together, but he'd never asked her out. He'd never given her the slightest hint that he felt this way until it was almost too late.
Well, by God, it's not too late. I intend to tell him as soon as I can.
Unfortunately, her few pathetic attempts to make herself understood only confused people. Due to the smoke damage, the doctors warned her it could be a while yet before she was able to talk and be understood. And the physical therapist said it would be even longer than that before she was able to gain enough control in her hand to write again.
There must be a way.
There was a tap at her door. Charlotte looked over at the door, now with both eyes able to see Carl smiling at her.
"Hey, Charlotte," he said cheerfully. "You're looking a lot better today."
How can you tell? She thought with a chuckle. Carl said it every day, even before the bandages were gone, and every day it made her laugh.
Carl's smile grew and he walked over to Charlotte's bed, sitting in the chair beside it. "Your dad was telling me that the therapist raves about you."
She nodded her head.
"And you'll be happy to know that from what I can see, you're going to look like your old self once this is over. John told me that...that your plastic surgeon was optimistic." John had told him a great deal more, actually, but he wasn't about to tell her about that.
What else did John say to you? What things have you kept from me today, only to tell me later when you think I'm not listening? She sighed.
That was the frustrating thing about Carl Denny. He was still not talking to her when she was awake.
Well, we'll have to change all that. But how?
"The girls send their love, though they're all furious that your father insisted they go home."
Charlotte had been grateful her father had done it. Her sisters needed to get back to their regular routines.
"Samantha's furious because she'll have another week of school after the last of your bandages come off. She wants to skip, but your father refuses to hear of it. Mariah was okay with not being able to come, but she's made Amy promise to call her. I think John's relieved that they won't be able to make it. He knows that they don't like him."
Carl hesitated, almost as though he was afraid of criticizing John in front of her.
Charlotte looked down at her hands, and thought of something. A way to communicate, even if it hurt like hell. Even if she could only remember how to say one thing.
"Of course, he still has to deal with your father."
The third and fourth fingers of Charlotte's right hand curled to leave the other three open.
Ow ow ow ow!!
"You'll probably be able to leave in a week or two..." Carl looked at Charlotte's hand, which she was slowly raising. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Charlotte?"
Charlotte looked at her hand, pleased. It hurt, but she could barely feel it. Her fingers were signing "I love you." She only hoped Carl knew what it meant.
"Is that what you learned today in physical therapy?"
She shook her head.
"Then you're trying to impress me by how much progress you're making."
She shook her head again.
Something flashed in Carl's eyes before disappearing. He wasn't going to read too much into it, she was probably just wanting to show her gratitude and signing "I love you" was the only way she could.
"Hang on," he said, rummaging around the room until he found a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. "Do you know the sign language alphabet?"
She nodded eagerly. At last!
"Okay. Go slow, and I should be able to...to get...whatever it is you want to say to me."
Whaaat? Didn't "I love you" sum it all up?
She again signed, "I love you."
Carl smiled. "I love you too, Charlotte."
But he did not say that with the soul she saw when he said it at night. Charlotte wanted to scream. Why wasn't he taking her seriously?
It looked as though she was going to have to actually spell it out for him.
Slowly, she began to form the letters to tell him.
"I...am...in...love...with...you," Carl said as she spelled it out. He put his pencil down and looked at her.
She continued, and he had to pick up his pencil quickly in order to continue writing her words down. "I...do...not...love...John. You don't?"
She shook her head.
"Since when?"
She thought on that a moment. She finally signed, "Crash."
"Since the day of the crash?"
She nodded.
"Why?"
She painstakingly formed her letters.
"John...was...a...jerk. Oh God, Charlotte, I could've told you that ages ago. You just wouldn't have believed me. You were like in the Twilight Zone or something."
She shrugged, then went back to signing.
"I...heard...what...you...said...to...me...the...day..." Carl groaned as she finished her sentence. "Oh, no. Please say you didn't really hear that."
She nodded.
"Oh, God! I sounded like such an idiot, rambling on and on..." Charlotte started signing something, so he picked up his pencil and continued. When she finished, he blanched again. "And every night since?"
She nodded.
Carl wished he could curl up and die. He'd been mortified by his words to her. Not that he hadn't meant every word he'd said, because he did, but because it was embarrassing to lay your heart bare to someone, even if they'd been sleeping or comatose.
Or they were supposed to be sleeping or comatose.
"Look, Charlotte, I..."
Charlotte was startled by his sudden attitude. Why was he embarrassed by what he felt? What was wrong with it?
And then he looked at her. "I'm sorry."
Oh God, no. Please, don't do this to me, she thought.
"You deserved to hear me say that in a far more romantic setting than here. You deserved...so much more. You deserved to have me tell you out in the open, not in secret like you did."
I don't care. All I want is you.
"You have no idea how brave I think you are," he said, and at last, Charlotte recognized the tone of his voice. At last, she saw the man who spoke to her so eloquently at night. "Not just for surviving the crash...but for this moment. You have no idea how long I agonized over whether or not to tell you. Then I did...and every time I came to see you, I told myself that I was practicing to tell you when you were awake."
Charlotte's hands were tired and throbbing. She wished she could've gone longer, but to do so might do damage and she didn't want that.
"I love you, Charlotte."
Charlotte wished she could show her pleasure at his words. She knew she shouldn't do it, but she had to. Slowly she signed, "Always and forever."
Carl's eyes teared up. "Yes," he whispered. "Always and forever." He kissed the top of her head, wishing she could speak, that he could hear the words directly from her lips. He knew he wouldn't believe it until he'd actually heard it.
"I have to go," he said. "You have no idea how hard it's going to be not crowing to John about this, but...I'll leave it for you to tell him."
Charlotte made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort.
"I can hold it in," Carl said. "I'd do anything for you, Charlotte."
She nodded.
"I'll go...I'll see you later."
Come to me tonight. Please.
She had the feeling he would do just that.
"I cannot believe this. I cannot believe she's done something so monumentally stupid as this!" Fitz yelled, balling up the piece of paper that had been sitting on the table waiting for him when he'd gotten home. He threw it across the room.
A moment later, he walked over to where it had landed and picked it up again. He smoothed it out and reread it.
Fitz and Lizzy--Sorry to leave without giving you notice, but I can't take it much more. If I stay, I'll only end up fighting with Fitz and I don't want to hate my brother. If there's one thing I learned from Lydia, it's that foolish words and actions can have lasting impressions.
I promise to call every couple days or so, but I'm not going to tell you where I am. Don't try to find me or I'll never speak to you again. You don't have to worry--I'm going on this trip with a friend and I'm sure nothing will happen to me.
Georgiana.
"That Bret Sullivan character, no doubt," he muttered, balling up the letter again. As he threw it against the wall, he heard a key turning in the lock.
He hoped against hope that it would be Georgiana, but was not surprised when Lizzy walked in.
"Hello," she said, her voice a little chilly.
"Lizzy, about what I said at the rink--"
"Forget it."
"No--you were right. And I have the proof." He looked around for Georgiana's note. When he found it, he handed it to her.
Lizzy scanned the note and bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying "I told you so." It wouldn't make Fitz feel any better.
"I can't believe she's gone and done something this stupid," Lizzy said quietly. "Run off for a weekend to Hawaii, or maybe go to London and see Charlotte and Carl. If she and Rich weren't on the outs, she could've gone to him. But to run off with a reporter?"
"Do you know for certain if it's him? Did she confide in you?"
Lizzy shook her head. "But he's the only one it could be."
"I thought you liked Bret Sullivan."
"I do, but while he might like Georgiana, he's still a reporter. I can see it now--the headlines crying out, 'My Road Trip with Georgiana Darcy.' Lord."
"Amen," Fitz said, sitting in a recliner with a sigh. "What are we going to do?"
Lizzy sat in his lap and put her arms around him. "You're going to do exactly what she wants you to do--absolutely nothing. She'll come home in a few days, maybe a week or two. Nothing more than that."
"What makes you so sure of that?"
"She's a skater. She's got to be near ice eventually. Georgiana may not be happy with us right now, but she knows the Olympics are less than a year away. She'll come back."
"I hope you're right, Lizzy. I hope you're right."
"Of course I'm right. When haven't I been?"
Fitz knew she was trying to put him in a better mood. Having her forgiveness was enough to do it. He smiled. "Where would you like me to start?" he asked.
"Oh, you!" She kissed him. Things were about to get to the point where they would need to progress to the bedroom when the doorbell rang.
"Dammit," he muttered. "Do we have to answer that?"
"I think maybe we should," she said. "It might be Georgiana."
"She has a key."
"It might be important." Lizzy slid off of his lap and straightened her skirt, which had bunched up near her waist.
With a groan, Fitz rose from the recliner and walked to the door. He opened it abruptly and put his crabbiest face on.
"It's good to see you too, Fitz," Rich said, a smile on his face. "I wasn't interrupting anything important, was I?"
"I thought it was."
"Rich!" Lizzy exclaimed, rushing toward him. She was threw herself into his arms despite the fact that they had fought the last time they'd spoken to each other. She figured that if he was here, he was willing to make up.
"Hello, Liz." He put his arms around her and knew he was forgiven for their fight.
"Where have you been?" she demanded the minute she pulled away from him.
"All over Europe, going to places we don't get to see when we're touring. It was great. There was this beautiful villa in Italy that I'm thinking of buying."
"Right now?"
"It might not be for sale when I retire."
"Well, come in. We've got a few things to tell you. Have you heard about Charlotte?"
"I'd heard that she was awake. That was the last news about her."
"According to Carl, her face was pretty smashed up in the crash and she had to have reconstructive surgery. The last I heard, she's recovering well."
"I'm glad to hear it. Maybe Carl will finally have sense enough to tell Charlotte he's in love--" Rich bit his lip. That was supposed to be a secret.
"I think everyone's aware of how he feels. He wouldn't have stayed with her as long as he did if he didn't love her." Lizzy sighed. "Rich, about our fight--"
"No apologies are necessary, except from me. Liz, you were right. I shouldn't have gone off on Georgiana like that. Where is she, anyway? I wanted to tell her myself that I was sorry for what I said."
Lizzy and Fitz exchanged a look. "She's not here," Fitz finally said. "She's taken off."
"Get fed up with you, did she?"
"Rich..." Lizzy groaned.
"Well, you were overprotective."
"Does everyone want to say 'I told you so' right now? Lizzy, here's your chance."
"I told you so." Lizzy said it very quickly and laughed as soon as she'd said it. "There. That'll be the only time I say it."
"Do you know where she is?" Rich asked.
Fitz shook his head. "We have a pretty good idea of who she's with, but her note didn't say anything about where she might be going."
"Who is she with?"
"Bret Sullivan."
Rich's eyes narrowed. The bastard who had written that article, who had asked the question, which had gotten Lydia killed.
"Have you tried finding her?"
"She just left today. We had a fight at the rink and she stormed off."
"We have decided to let this run its course," Lizzy said.
"I don't recall saying that," Fitz replied.
"Yes, you did. You decided that there was really nothing we could do to find her, and she'd only resent us more if we tried."
"She's got a point there, Fitz."
"Stay out of this. You've been back five minutes."
"He's being resistant, but he knows I'm right."
"Weren't we just discussing this?"
Lizzy gave Fitz a dirty look. "Do you have plans for this evening?" she asked Rich.
He shook his head. "Right now, the only plans I have are for an early night--so I can be out on the ice first thing in the morning. There is one piece of business I need to take care of first, though."
Lizzy had a feeling she knew what it was. "She's been expecting it," she said quietly.
Fitz looked at her as though she was crazy. "Who's been expecting what?"
"My mother. She's been expecting Rich to come home and get rid of her as his coach. I thought you did that at Worlds."
"I'm making it official," he replied. "I have no trouble forgiving you, and although I had a lot of trouble forgiving Georgiana I finally did it. But Frances was Lydia's mother. She should've..." Rich broke off, not able to finish. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should, but I've been trying for the past several weeks and I just can't do it."
"It's all right," Lizzy said. "My mother's getting out of skating altogether. She's discussed it with my father and he's agreed that maybe the best thing would be for her to leave it."
Rich nodded, but his face was hard. "It's for the best."
Lizzy looked for something to get his mind off of Lydia. "Well, I know you don't intend to do anything, so how about staying for supper?"
Rich looked at Fitz, then at Lizzy. He grinned. He had a pretty damn good idea of what had been going on before he'd arrived...and while he would like to spend the evening catching up on news, he decided that he could wait.
"No, thanks," he replied. "I think I'd better go see Frances. But I'll see you in the morning, okay?"
"Sure."
"Bye, Rich." Fitz cheerfully led Rich to the door. When it was shut behind him, he turned back to his wife. "Now, where were we?"
"I don't know, but I think we'd better retire for the evening."
Georgiana and Bret were somewhere in the middle of nowhere a week later. They'd talked about a great deal during their road trip. Georgiana had talked about how lonely her life had been before the last Olympics, and how in some ways she was still very lonely. Bret talked about his time spent in college, his ideas for his writing, but very little about her family.
"What is your deep dark secret?" she asked as they traveled down the road.
Bret nearly ran off the road. Georgiana clutched the dash and willed her stomach not to heave.
"Sorry," he said.
"It's okay." Georgiana looked at him. She'd suspected for some time that something was troubling him greatly, ever since they met. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. I'll even go first."
"Georgiana, no offense or anything, but I think my deep dark secret might be worse than yours."
"I don't know about that. Mine may not rank up there with the worst, but it's pretty bad. Especially given that it could not only ruin my life but several others if it gets out."
"I won't tell anyone if you want to tell me a secret," he said.
"Yeah, but the point of this whole thing is to get to know each other as well as we can. If I reveal something about myself and you don't reciprocate, it doesn't create trust."
"Since when did you become the relationship guru?"
"Since I got into this car with you."
"Okay, okay. You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine. Go for it." Bret hoped this would give him long enough to make something up.
Georgiana took a deep breath. "Well, it goes back to what happened the day of the crash. Or rather, the day before the crash, when I gave you that interview."
"Uh-huh." He'd figured that much.
"When you asked me that question, I answered it hoping that it would drive a wedge between Rich and Lydia. I did it deliberately."
He nodded.
"Rich...confronted me at the rink the next day. He was furious with me for saying it. I tried to defend myself by saying it was the truth, because it was. I felt that way, and I had a right to my feelings. But he was right about something, and I realize that now."
"What was that?"
"I shouldn't have made it public. I'd agreed to go along with the party line that Lydia had nothing to do with it. I knew the truth, and so did everyone else. That should've been enough, but for me it wasn't. Lydia had nearly ruined my career without the slightest attempt at an apology and then dropped back into my life to take Rich away. And all of the sudden, he'd conveniently forgotten what she'd done to me. It felt like a betrayal, and I wanted to get back at her for it."
"So that's your secret? That you tried to get revenge on her?"
Georgiana shook her head. "The secret is what happened after I left the rink that day."
Bret wasn't sure he was going to consider Georgiana's minor transgression--which he suspected was her getting drunk--a deep secret, but she did have him hooked. Must be the reporter in me, he thought.
"I ran into someone at the bar in the hotel. We got to talking. He had the same problem I did--he was watching the woman he loved with a man who was totally wrong for her. He invited me back to his room because I wanted to get drunk and forget all about Rich and Lydia. He had a minibar, and so I had a few drinks. We got to talking about how overprotective Fitz was, and I joked about how I'd probably be forty before I was even kissed. He offered to kiss me, and I took him up on it." She closed her eyes and confessed the rest. "And it sort of led to us going to bed together."
Bret turned sharply off the road before he got them killed. Turning off the engine, he faced her. "You slept with a total stranger?"
She looked at him, startled. "No! I'm not that big a ho. Or perhaps I am, because I knew he loved someone else and I slept with him anyway. But that's not the worst of it."
"Oh, no." But even before she said it, he knew.
She nodded. "I'm pregnant. I found out the day before we left."
Bret grimaced. Great. If the person blackmailing him wanted something with which to blackmail Georgiana, she'd just played perfectly into their hands.
I can't ask it. I can't ask. I can't.
"Who?" he asked.
Blinking back tears, she replied, "Carl Denny."
Bret's jaw gaped. "Denny? But he's--"
"I know. Everyone in skating is talking about how devoted he's been to Charlotte."
"Does he know?"
"No. I'm not about to tell him. He's got problems enough right now without me adding to them by reminding him of a one afternoon stand."
"It's going to be a bit more than that in about seven months. Your `deep dark secret' is going to be a big nasty scandal."
"I know."
"You're eventually going to have to tell him."
"Maybe. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll disappear for a year, go to Europe, and give the baby up for adoption."
"Is that what you want to do?"
Georgiana had given the idea of adoption a lot of thought. "Maybe. I'm eighteen. For almost my entire life, I've been sheltered by my brother. I'm a professional athlete. What do I know about raising a baby?"
Bret saw the truth of her words. "God, Georgiana, you got yourself into a hell of a muddle."
"I know. Just about the only decision I've made is to have the baby." She drew her knees up to her chin. "I thought about abortion. It's the easy choice, and maybe it would be the best one. If I did it, no one would have to know. Carl's chances with Charlotte wouldn't be diminished. Fitz wouldn't be disappointed in me, and I know he would be. I could continue skating."
"Why did you decide against it?"
"Because...because it doesn't feel right. I don't think I could live with myself if I killed my baby, and I know that that's how I'd see it for the rest of my life." Georgiana looked down. "Forget it."
"Forget what?"
"Forget the whole `deep dark secret' mess. You're right. Everyone's going to know. I don't know what Carl will end up doing when I tell him. Probably something foolish."
"That's already happened."
With a wistful smile, she said, "Then something more foolish, I should say. But I meant that you don't have to tell me anything about yourself. What I've told you is just...well, it's just the inside scoop, I guess."
Bret frowned. "Do you think I'd do that to you?"
"I don't know."
"You seem to be saying that a lot in this conversation. For the record, Georgiana, I would never do that to you." He reached out and brushed a stray hair back from her face.
"Thank you."
"You know...as close as we've become in the past couple of months, you could always say it was mine."
Now what made me suggest that? he wondered.
"Don't think I didn't consider it," she said. "It would get Carl off the hook. But it wouldn't be fair to you or him. He deserves the truth, and you don't deserve to have my brother's everlasting hate heaped on your head."
Bret looked at her. He realized, for the first time, just what it was about Georgiana that made her brother so protective. She looked so fragile, sitting in his front seat with a forlorn expression on her face.
"I want to tell you my story," he said finally. "I think you deserve to hear it."
"Okay."
He turned away, afraid to face her as he told his secret. "I had a sister. Her name was Bridget. Bridget Maureen Sullivan. I hardly know how to describe her. I loved her so much, more than anything in this world. I understand how your brother feels about you because it's how I felt about Bridget. She was beautiful and smart...and so funny. She could've been anything, and she wanted to be everything. She should've had the chance to do whatever she wanted."
"What happened to her?"
Tears burned his eyes. He let them fall. "She got cancer last year. She was seventeen years old."
Georgiana reached out a hand to place in his. "My problems must seem petty to yours. I'm sorry."
"No...that's not the...that's not what happened. That's not...she...she knew she was going to die. She had a brain tumor the doctors couldn't reach. The day she found out...it was like a light had died within her. She went upstairs to her room, locked the door, and stayed in there for a week. She wouldn't eat. She was willing herself to die before the tumor could get her. I finally had to break her door to see her. She cried in my arms for so long...and then...then she..."
Bret swallowed several times before finishing. "Then she asked me to help her commit suicide."
"Oh, my God."
His voice was beginning to tremble. "You can imagine what I thought when she asked me. She started making the argument that she would rather die now, quickly and with relatively little pain, than to endure months of slow deterioration. I knew what would eventually happen to her. Slowly, I would lose the sister I loved so dearly. Bridget said she wanted me to remember her as she was and not what she would become. She didn't want to burden anyone. She used every argument in the world, and I still said no.
"She started having headaches no painkiller would help. There were days she couldn't even get out of bed. She would get sick, and dizzy, and she would look so tortured...and then...one day, I found her in her room. There was a bottle of painkillers on her dresser. She was holding a gun in her hand. She'd taken several of the painkillers in order to dull the pain, but they hadn't done much good, as usual. I grabbed the gun out of her hand and told her I couldn't let her do it. Out of nowhere, it seemed, she got a superhuman burst of strength and came after me. We struggled over the gun...and we wound up in the hall. And Bridget..." He was barely able to speak now, his words drowned out by gulping. "She had almost managed to get the gun when I shoved her shoulder. She stumbled and tripped...and the next thing I knew, she was tumbling down the stairs."
"She died," Georgiana said.
He nodded. "Instantly, from a broken neck. I guess Bridget got what she wanted in the end. And I...I got to live with the guilt that I'd killed her."
"It was an accident."
He shook his head. "No. I didn't have to push her away. I could've gotten the gun away from her without doing that."
"What did you tell the police?"
"I told them very little. I didn't lie to them, but I didn't tell the entire truth, either. Just that Bridget had been depressed, she'd been taking pain medicine, she was dying. It turned out that she'd had a couple of drinks before she died. I didn't tell them about the rest of it. They did their autopsy and ruled it an accident, possibly a suicide. But I knew. I think my family knows that I had more to do with Bridget's death than I said. No one said anything about it then, and we don't talk much anymore."
Georgiana reached over and hugged him. He cried for a few minutes in her arms. When he finally felt composed enough to break the embrace, he said, "I probably shouldn't have said anything to you."
"Don't worry about it. I'll never tell anyone. God, I can't imagine what I would do if...if something like that happened to me."
"That's not even the worst of it," he said. "The worst of it is, someone suspected the truth. This person confronted me one day, claimed that he'd seen us struggling through the window. He said he'd go to the cops in a minute. He must've had a hunch, called me about it and I let myself be set up. He's got a tape with me practically saying I'd murdered my sister. He's been using it to blackmail me ever since."
"But you don't have that much money. How are you surviving? Is that why you interviewed me?"
He shook his head. He had to tell her everything. "I...I don't know how to tell you this. You'll probably want to get out of the car and never speak to me again once I tell you."
"What is it?"
"He wanted me to get close to you. He wants to find something on you."
Georgiana whimpered. "George Wickham," she breathed.
He shook his head. "I thought so too, at first. Or someone working for him. But no. I did a little research myself and found out his identity. How well do you know Bill Collins?"
Georgiana frowned. "He's a singles skater."
"For your cousin Catherine de Bourgh."
Something fell into place for Georgiana. "You mean...you think he's acting on my cousin's orders?"
"Yes. From what I can tell, he's not too bright. Something like this couldn't be his idea, but your cousin...she's sneaky. We all know what she did to Lizzy's mother all those years ago. I think she planned this."
"In order to get me back," Georgiana finished. "She blackmailed you in order to get something on me, so I'd come back to her. She lost a lot of prestige when her two gold medalists deserted her immediately after the Olympics, and I know there was a lot of laughter behind her back because we were family. She would see this as the chance to get us back in her stable."
"You believe that?" Bret seemed incredulous. He had been certain she would storm out of the car and do whatever was necessary to get as far away from him as she could.
She nodded. "I wouldn't put anything past Lady Cat. What I don't understand is why you're telling me. You didn't have to."
"I thought about it. Believe me, it would be so much easier not to have told you. But you had a right to know. You'd been completely honest with me about the baby and Carl...you deserved nothing less than the truth." He looked into her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Georgiana. I didn't agree to this road trip just to keep tabs on you."
"You did it to escape him. I understand."
"You're being way too forgiving. I wouldn't--"
Georgiana took his hand again. "If there's one thing I'm learning, it's that there are times when you do things because you think you don't have any other choice. Sometimes it's right, and sometimes it isn't. And you did come clean with me. I appreciate that."
Bret felt his breath slowly returning to normal. He had stopped crying. "Thank you."
She nodded. "You're welcome. And I'd say we're both in a hell of a muddle right now."
"Well, I know how we could solve yours. Mine...I don't know. Short of confessing, I don't think there's a way out of mine."
"How could we solve my problem?" she asked.
"You could marry me and we could say it's my child."
Georgiana looked around. They were on the side of the road on Interstate 70. She'd just confessed to some stupid stuff and he'd just confessed to some serious stuff. Cars and trucks were zooming by, rocking their car. She wasn't really sure where they were.
All in all, this was not the most romantic place for a marriage proposal.
"I hardly know what to say."
"I know. But this way, Carl doesn't have to torture himself about your one-nighter. You don't have to worry about the press digging it up. Your brother...will be less than thrilled either way, but better for us to be married and expecting than for you to turn up pregnant refusing to name the father. You could say that this getaway is...an elopement."
"I wouldn't ask you to do it. And I wouldn't want you to do it if you're going to martyr yourself."
Bret grinned. "Georgiana, I don't know if you've taken a look in the mirror lately, but any man who marries you wouldn't have to be considered a martyr."
"I'm no picnic, Bret. You know what I've done."
"And you know what I've done. I'll understand if you--"
"I'm not objecting to that. I just don't want you to regret anything."
"Believe me, if you say you'll marry me I won't regret a thing. And I promise you that I'll do my very best to insure that you don't regret anything."
Georgiana gave it some thought. It seemed rather cold-blooded, to marry a man because you were pregnant. Even more cold-blooded because it wasn't his child.
And yet...
While she couldn't say she was in love with Bret, she had grown to like him in the time they'd known each other. She'd had a feeling that part of the reason he'd told her the truth was because he was falling in love with her.
Maybe things would work out for them.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, I'll marry you."