Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Part 3

Anne realized she was probably making a fool out of herself, staring at Frederick in such a fashion. It was doubly foolish given the fact that she had seen him so often. Triply foolish if you took into consideration the fact that not once in eight years had he bothered to send her a letter or an e-mail or even a phone call. It was perfectly obvious that he wanted nothing to do with her, and if she had doubted it before, the look on his face right now told her everything she needed to know.

Anne couldn't help herself. She had admired him from a distance for so long that the chance to see him up close again, after so long, was too strong a temptation for her to resist.

He always did have the looks of a devil.

"Hello, Anne," Frederick said crisply, that English accent she had so adored as strong as ever.

"It's good to see you," she said, because it was the expected thing to say.

"Is it?"

Anne felt the jab directly to her heart, which of course had been his intention. But she hadn't managed to get where she was by allowing her emotions to take control of her life. "Yes, it is," she replied. "Congratulations on winning the gold medal. I know you worked very hard to get it."

"Thank you." But his words were those of a stranger, as though she had been a fan wanting to congratulate her idol. They were not the words of the man she'd known and loved. "Congratulations to you as well. I heard you skated beautifully."

"Thank you." Despite herself, Anne's voice faded a bit. He hadn't even watched her skate on television?

For heaven's sake, Anne, sit down. It's not as if you're waiting for his permission to do so. With her chin as high as it could get without being too obvious that she was aching with the need to lower her eyes, she sat down beside him.

"How is James?" she asked softly.

Frederick started, as though he hadn't expected her to continue trying to make conversation. "He is...er, he is fine," he replied.

"I heard that the woman he was planning to marry died last year. I sent a card but I didn't hear anything from him so I didn't know whether or not he received it."

Good Lord! I sound like a chattering magpie! Like a brainless twit! Can't I get through one conversation with this man? It's not like I still have feelings for him or anything!

"I'm sure he did. Returning cards was the last thing on his mind at the time."

Of course, carrying on a decent, we-don't-care-about-each-other-but-we-can-converse-like-civilized-adults conversation would be easier with a little help from him!

"Right."

Anne toyed with her name card and wondered how much longer it would be before lunch was served. She hadn't eaten on the plane and could use a good meal. If nothing else, it would keep her occupied and make it seem less obvious that she was being ignored by the man next to her.

"How is Susan?" Frederick asked abruptly.

Anne nearly crushed the card she held. "She's fine," she replied as she tried to discern just how much sarcasm he'd used in asking her about her coach. Maybe it was just her imagination.

"Still keeping a close watch on your life?"

Nope, definitely not her imagination. "She keeps an eye on my skating, that's all."

"Sure she does." Frederick picked up his water glass and downed half of it.

Anne opened her mouth to say something in reply but closed it, not wanting to be drawn into an argument with him. It was pointless to do so, and besides, both of them had made sure to bury their past. It wouldn't do for them to dredge it out for everyone to hear about now. Luckily, George announced that lunch was ready and everyone took their seats, allowing Frederick to start up a conversation with Fitz Darcy.

Cruel fate, in the guise of Amy Lucas, had forced Georgiana to take Amy's place with Carl and Charlotte. Amy had pleaded prettily with her, wanting to finalize arrangements with Bret and catch up with Rich, and in the end Georgiana found herself being talked into it. So now Amy was sitting with a rapturous look on her face as she talked to Rich, and Georgiana was feeling needles of terror as she sat next to Charlotte.

I knew this tour was a bad idea. What did I think I was doing, coming back to the tour when I knew Carl and Charlotte were going to be here?

Georgiana ate automatically, tasting very little, saying even less. Carl and Charlotte were too caught up in each other to notice, or so she hoped. The other alternative was that they were as uncomfortable with the revised seating arrangements as she was.

As George Knightley proposed a toast to all of them and the tour, Georgiana raised her glass along with everyone else but did not drink. She hadn't had a proper drink since the afternoon she'd spent with Carl in his hotel room in London. Her cheeks flushing scarlet, she quickly put her glass down and looked at her plate.

The afternoon itself wasn't entirely clear to her. She remembered the fight she'd had with Rich over the interview she'd given Bret, and returning to the hotel and seeing Carl drinking alone. She'd joined him and he'd suggested they go to his hotel room so she could actually drink.

From there, things got hazy. She'd had quite a bit to drink, she knew that. She knew that Carl was unhappy because Charlotte was marrying John Thorpe and she was miserable about Rich. He'd told her he thought she was very pretty, and she'd lamented the fact that Rich didn't seem interested in her type of looks. Then, for some unknown reason, she'd mentioned that she'd never been kissed. Carl had insisted that she kiss him and then made a joke of it, puckering his lips in an exaggerated fashion.

Georgiana waited until he'd relaxed his pose before she kissed him. When she'd pulled away, slightly in awe of what she'd done, the most natural thing in the world had been to kiss him again. And again.

And the next thing she knew, they were in bed together.

What she really remembered about the afternoon was what happened when they woke up, of course. The telephone had ended their brief tryst, the person on the other end-one of Charlotte's sisters, wanting to know if Carl knew where she was-refusing to hang up even after the phone had rang fifty times. Then she'd turned on the TV to find the initial news reports saying that her cousin, James Hampton, had died in the plane crash that had killed Lydia.

James had survived, but what had jolted Carl was the possibility that Charlotte had been on the plane. In the end, he'd been right, and his devotion to her during that time had been well-chronicled. Georgiana had never resented Carl for leaving her alone that day. If their roles had been reversed, she'd have been gone just as fast after Rich.

It had been a terrible shock to discover she was pregnant two months later. She supposed it shouldn't have been such a shock-two people, totally wasted, having sex, of course it was likely that they weren't going to use protection. Lizzy had asked Georgiana when she'd turned eighteen if she wanted to go on the Pill, but Georgiana, fearful that Fitz might find out and kill her, declined the offer.

How she'd beat herself up over that decision in the early days of her pregnancy! Now she didn't regret it, naturally, since if she'd been on the Pill she wouldn't be married to Bret and she wouldn't have Bridget.

But if she had been on the Pill, then her life would've eventually gotten back to normal. She probably would've won the gold medal this year. Embarrassing situations like the one she found herself in now wouldn't be happening.

Lizzy didn't think she could bear it any longer. Frederick Wentworth had been talking steadfastly to Fitz, rather blatantly ignoring the lovely young woman to his left. Poor Anne Elliot looked out of place as she toyed with the food on her plate. Lizzy thought she looked for all the world as if she regretted signing on with the tour. Amy Lucas had an eager audience with Rich. The two of them were talking about something they'd done when he'd been in Seattle in January. All of the chatter, all of the noise, was getting to her.

When Bridget started wailing, Lizzy decided it was the last straw. She rose from her seat abruptly.

"Elizabeth? What's the matter?" Fitz asked, grasping her chair as it nearly toppled over.

"I need to...go to the restroom. I'll be right back, darling." Lizzy knew she was fooling no one with her forced cheerful smile as she backed away from the table, eyes focused on the door with such intensity that Fitz never got the chance to say anything else before she darted away.

The bathroom was empty, thank God. Lizzy headed for one of the stalls and shut herself in, the astringent smell filling her senses, the coldness of the room oddly soothing. It was silent.

You're being silly, Elizabeth Darcy. You're only twenty-four. You have at least ten years to have children. There's no reason to panic because you haven't gotten pregnant yet, for God's sake. And you've only been off the Pill for six months.

Lizzy took a deep breath, blanked her mind for a moment, then exhaled slowly.

She had shared everything about herself with Fitzwilliam Darcy in the four years they'd been together, or so she'd thought. She'd confided her hopes and fears, her dreams and realities, her likes and dislikes. She'd told him things no one knew. In exchange, he told her everything about himself. She was closer to him than she'd been to anyone, and he knew more about her than anyone.

So she'd been absolutely floored when she realized that there actually was something they hadn't talked about in their four-year relationship. They'd never talked about having children.

Maybe if Georgiana hadn't returned home in January with a baby, this sudden longing for a child of her own wouldn't have arisen. But it seemed that ever since she'd clapped eyes on Bridget, Lizzy had been thinking of having a baby. She could already picture it...a little girl with curly dark brown hair, like hers, but with her Fitz's almost black eyes. She would have Fitz's facial features, but she had to have the Bennet smile. Or perhaps it would be a boy! A baby Fitz, for she wanted any son she had to look like his father, only perhaps he could have her smile as well. But other than that, he would have to look like his father.

Lizzy's dreams continued further, to think about what a powerhouse their child could be on the ice. With her sense of style and Fitz's athletic ability...

She always made sure to stop those dreams where they started, always keeping in her mind the image of her mother, pushing her daughters into skating whether they'd wanted it or not. And then she thought of poor Lydia, who had decided in the end that she'd wanted something other than skating in her life. It had cost her the support of her mother when she needed it most. Lizzy blinked back tears. No, it would be best to discourage her children from pursuing skating unless they were absolutely certain it was what they wanted to do.

Lizzy had decided before they'd returned home to Chicago that she wanted to have a baby after the Olympics. It was when she brought up the idea to Fitz that she got a bit of a shock.

"A baby?" he'd murmured, as though she'd used a word he'd never heard before.

"Yes. What do you think?" Before he could answer, she continued. "I think it would be a great idea."

"Elizabeth...are you sure about this?"

"Yes! I've thought about it and, well, I know it's going to mean taking some time off, but better to do it now when I'm young and healthy rather than waiting until I'm older. A woman's age can affect babies, you know."

"I am aware of that. But you're young. We don't have to have a baby right away, especially not when we're about to experience the rewards for all of our hard work over the years."

Lizzy's excitement began to slip away. "When did you see us having children?" she asked.

Fitz shrugged. "I don't know."

The excitement was completely gone now, replaced by a tight knot in her stomach. "Did you ever see us-"

"God, yes! I want us to have a child, more than one, in fact. Just not right now. We're just a few weeks away from the biggest event of our lives. You're finally going to win the gold medal George Wickham cheated you out of four years ago. When that's over, we'll get to go on tour and perform in TV specials and who knows what else. There's a whole new world about to open for us, Lizzy. If you have a baby now, we'll miss out on a good deal of that. We'd have to take off at least a year, maybe more."

"What would be wrong with that? I wouldn't mind some time off. This is all I've done for nearly twenty years."

"If we take the time off and come back, people might not remember us when we do."

"Did anyone forget Gordeeva and Grinkov when they took time off for her to have a baby?"

"We're not them."

"You're right. We're American and we don't quite achieve the level of perfection they had when he was alive."

"Which is why we need to, forgive the cliché, strike while the iron is hot. We have to take advantage of every opportunity now."

Lizzy felt the sting of tears in her eyes. "You know who you sound like when you say that?" she asked before answering her own question. "George Wickham."

Fitz's eyes went cold. "Just because I don't think we should have a baby right now doesn't make me like him," he snapped before stalking off.

The two of them didn't speak for two days, which threw their skating off. Edward spotted it right away and did what any sensible coach would. He locked them in a room for seven hours until they'd worked everything out. (Although they didn't leave the room for another three hours after he unlocked the door.)

After that, things did get back to normal. Lizzy became too wrapped up in preparing for the Olympics to think much about babies beyond throwing out her birth control pills, and Fitz, glad that her goals were back in line with his, gave the conversation no further thought.

It was only after the Olympics were over that Lizzy's longing reappeared, and her agony with it. For the past four months, she had hoped to find herself pregnant only to have her hopes smashed when she wasn't. What was wrong with her? She was a normal, healthy young woman, wasn't she? She should be eagerly anticipating the birth of a baby right now instead of dreading this tour she'd agreed to do.

Tears filled Lizzy's eyes. She didn't want to be here, she truly didn't. It was as if she, like Lydia the year before, had become tired of skating being the only thing in her life.

There you go again, being silly. There's so much more in your life than skating. There's Fitz, and Georgiana, and your friends...

But everyone in her life was connected to skating. The only person she considered a friend who wasn't a skater was Bret Sullivan, but she knew she probably wouldn't know his name if he hadn't married Georgiana. Even he had a connection to the sport.

"Lizzy?" she heard Charlotte whisper.

Lizzy nearly gasped, wanting to hide from the person on the other side of the stall door.

"Are you all right?"

Lizzy cleared her voice. "I'm just fine, thanks. Not feeling well, that's all."

"Are you sure? You didn't look too good when you left."

Lizzy leaned her head against the side of the stall and said nothing.

"Please tell me what's wrong."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She supposed it would be better for her to bring up the problem with Charlotte than anyone else, but she found it difficult to open the door and step out of the stall. Charlotte was sitting on the sinks, a worried frown on her face.

"You're going to think this ridiculous," Lizzy said.

"No, I won't. I swear." Charlotte grinned. "You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine. Okay?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Uh-uh. You're going first."

Lizzy took a seat on the sinks next to her friend. "I'm worried because I'm not pregnant."

"I see." Charlotte nodded sagely. "How long have the two of you been trying?"

"Technically, six months, but the thing is...Fitz doesn't know we're trying."

"He doesn't?" Charlotte's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.

Lizzy shook her head. "I brought up the idea when we got home from your wedding and he didn't like it. He wants to 'explore the waters of success,' or something like that. What it comes down to is that he wants to wait a couple of years."

"And you want to have a baby now."

"Yes."

"If you don't mind my asking, why is it so urgent to-" Charlotte looked thoughtful. "It's because of Georgiana, isn't it? You see her daughter and it makes you want to have one of your own."

Lizzy nodded. "I'm a horrible person, aren't I? To be envious of my own sister-in-law because she got pregnant the first time she..." With dawning horror, she focused on Charlotte. "Oh, God. Charlotte, I'm so sorry."

With a rueful look, Charlotte said, "I see I don't need to tell you my problem."

"I thought you were fine with Georgiana joining the tour. You seemed happy enough to see her earlier."

"I am happy to see that Georgiana's not giving up skating. It's..." Charlotte hesitated. "You're going to think I'm worse than you think you are, but it's her daughter. I can live with the fact that Georgiana slept with Carl. It's the baby...every time I look at her, I have to remember the fact that there was another woman in Carl's life."

"Oh, Charlotte, you can't spend your life doing that," Lizzy murmured.

"Why not? Don't you?"

"As to the why not, you just can't...if for no other reason than because technically, I was once a woman in Carl's life. For a whole Nationals years and years ago, when my mother was sick and couldn't make it."

"There's a difference, Lizzy. For one thing, you didn't have his baby."

"True." Lizzy grinned. "My mother would've killed me if I'd slept with him. Hell, she would've killed me if she'd found out I'd gone out with him at all. But seriously, Charlotte, I try not to think about Fitz's past. If I were to think about the women in Fitz's life, I'd probably hang myself. And let's not even get started about what happened four years ago. That fiasco should've been enough to put off any man, but Fitz still loves me."

"But do you ever think that in the back of his mind, there's that little voice that says, 'Rich might still love her?' Do you think he gets jealous?"

"Do you get jealous over Georgiana?"

"I don't know." Charlotte swung her legs. "I didn't think I was, once I'd gotten over the news. It was only the one time, and it wasn't like they were in love. It was just sex. But skating's such a small world, you know? Even when you leave the life, you never really leave. You go to the same functions, social and otherwise, as other skaters. It gives plenty of opportunity for suspicion."

Lizzy pondered that reality. "Do you honestly think Carl would leave you for Georgiana?"

"Lord, not in a heartbeat!" Charlotte glared at her friend before settling down. "I see your point. But that doesn't mean I have to like the idea that Carl's had a child with someone else."

"Maybe it would be easier for you to deal with Bridget if you thought of her as Bret's child."

"Can't do it. Surely you've noticed that-"

"She looks exactly like Carl? Yes, I have. God help all of us if Fitz ever stumbles onto the truth. He gets along with Bret now, but it was a rocky beginning because they told us they were married and having a baby on the same day. If he found out it was a friend of his, I don't know what he'd do."

Charlotte nodded in agreement.

"It's not just because of Georgiana that I want to have a baby," Lizzy said. "After Fitz and I disagreed about having a baby now, I...God help me, Charlotte, but I'm starting to lose interest in skating."

"I don't believe that."

Lizzy's eyes filled with tears. "I never thought I'd say that, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that what's been bothering me is the fact that I have no life outside of skating. Even when I was in high school, most of my time was spent training for the Olympics. It was the driving force in my mother's life, and look how she turned out. Charlotte, I don't want to be like my mother."

"Lizzy, the last thing you're going to be is your mother."

Lizzy snorted. "Yeah, because I can't have children."

"You're going to have children, and you're going to be a wonderful mother to them when you do." Charlotte scooted closer to her. "And if you think about it, you do have a life outside of skating. You do charity work. You like to read. And you have Fitz-"

"Who is a skater."

"You two don't spend all of your time on the ice, do you?"

"Of course not. But most of our conversations revolve around it." Lizzy let the tears fall. "I keep thinking about Lydia, and how Mom pushed her into this life. I keep thinking of how miserable she was the day she...she left London."

"Not to speak ill of the dead, sweetie, but Lydia decided she didn't like skating anymore when it turned on her. If she'd won a gold medal four years ago, she'd still be alive today. She'd be skating and she'd be happy." Charlotte put her arm around Lizzy. "You're going to be fine, you know. I think the reason you're not pregnant yet is because you're worrying about it."

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"You're under too much pressure. My mother mentioned this to me before I married Carl. She said that she waited two years to get pregnant with me and that she worried she couldn't have children. My father sensed this and took her away on a trip to the Caribbean. She came back pregnant because she didn't think about it."

"If that were the case, I should be pregnant already. The only thing I did between your wedding and the Olympics was worry about winning the gold medal."

"Exactly. You were worried about something. If you stop worrying about getting pregnant and just enjoy yourself this summer, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by the time it's all over."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Try it."

"That's going to be tough considering the fact that Bridget's coming along with us."

"Don't think of Bridget in any other terms than as 'Georgiana's baby.' That's what I'm going to try and do." Charlotte smiled ruefully. "It'll be interesting to see if either of us is successful."

"Care to make a wager?" Lizzy asked.

The two women laughed and hugged before leaving the bathroom, returning to husbands who had started to wonder what on earth could be taking so long.

Part 4

Rich took Amy to a small, out-of-the-way café after the luncheon broke up. "The last thing you probably want to do is eat or drink anything after all that," he said, "but we need to talk alone and I don't trust anyplace else to give up privacy."

Amy fell in love with the place he took her to immediately. She was used to coffee bars with modern fixtures, gadgets and gizmos galore behind the counter, and no charm to them whatsoever. This place, however, was something different, something she wouldn't have expected to find in New York City. The lighting wasn't harsh or dim but soft and gentle, and the smell of fresh-baked bread and coffee assaulted her senses from the moment she walked in the door. None of the customers sat hunched over a laptop computer, frantically clicking a mouse to get the latest updates from the Internet while gulping down coffee without tasting it.

"Take a seat," the bored-looking young waitress said, waving them to one of the booths by the window.

"Uh...we'd like something a little less public," Rich replied, taking Amy's hand in his and walking toward a table near the back.

"Whatever."

Amy grimaced. The service could be a little better.

"Just ignore Irene," Rich murmured as he pulled out her chair. "She saw us come in and that's why she's so upset."

"Why?" Amy asked.

Rich sighed. "Because she saw us come in."

Amy was puzzled until she saw the young woman out of the corner of her eye. She was glaring at Rich...no, she was glaring at her.

"Oh, of course. She, like any other sensible woman between twenty and thirty, is madly in love with you," Amy said with a smile.

Rich didn't smile. "That's funny. I've been finding that it's the other way around. I've been falling in love with women and they don't love me back."

Amy looked down at the table. "I'm so sorry, Rich," she whispered. "I didn't mean-"

"Oh! No, I didn't mean to accuse you or anything. You had your reasons for deciding that it wouldn't be a good idea for us to get together six months ago. I respected that. And it wasn't that I was in love with you."

"Of course you weren't. I wasn't expecting you to fall in love with me based on one late night talking and one official date."

"Amy..."

"Hello, my name's Irene and I'll be your waitress. What can I get for you?"

Wonderful timing, Amy thought while trying not to glare at the girl. "I'll have a cup of coffee," she said.

"Make that two. If we want anything later, we'll let you know," Rich finished.

Irene sniffed and looked as though she wanted any excuse to hover, but Rich's words prevented her from doing that so she disappeared to get their coffee.

"Amy, why did you fly out here?" he asked.

"I already told you. I wanted to be with you."

"I know what you said, but...but what's changed in six months? If anything, you have even more reason to stay away from me than you did then."

Amy wished the waitress would hurry up with that coffee. It was one thing to be able to pour her heart out to Carl and Charlotte-they were family. But when she tried to form the words to tell Rich that there was something about him that she couldn't shake without it sounding like she had a bad case of the flu or, even worse, a major crush on him, they wouldn't come.

Irene returned to save her, although she wouldn't have appreciated it if Amy told her. She plunked two mugs in front of them then walked off without asking them if they needed anything like cream or sugar. Rich stood up quickly and walked to the counter, where an older woman was standing, and asked for what they needed. The woman handed him a container then shouted, "Irene! Family or no family, you're getting a write-up for that!"

Rich sat back down and reached for a packet of sugar. Amy did the same and slowly stirred it into her coffee. When Rich took his first sip, sighing appreciatively, Amy knew her time was up. She had to stop stalling.

"You really messed up my life, Richard Fitzwilliam," she said. "I ought to hate you for it, you know."

"How did I do that?" Rich raised one eyebrow quizzically.

"You walked into it." Amy took a sip of her coffee, but it was too hot so she set it down again. "I knew what I wanted to do. I was going to get that internship for the summer, return to college and get my bachelor's degree and go to grad school. I was going to be a psychiatrist and spend my life helping people. And then I met you at Charlotte's wedding and you looked so lonely..."

"Lonely?"

"You were sitting against the wall, barely dancing. I knew you were thinking of Lydia...and I thought you needed cheering up. Or at the very least, you needed a little company. So I went over to you and we talked."

"And didn't stop talking for almost twenty-four hours," Rich added. "Then we went on a date and I thought things were connecting between us. I asked you out again and you said that you felt it would be for the best if we didn't pursue it."

"I know," Amy said brokenly, realizing that she was fighting a losing battle. Rich had clearly brought her here to tell her he wasn't interested. "I got scared, okay? I'd never had a connection like the one I had with you, not even with Jack. It made me nervous. I had everything planned out just the way I wanted it, and then I met you."

"You make it sound like you caught some deadly disease."

"That's almost what it feels like," Amy retorted angrily. "Once you get under a woman's skin, you're all she can think about. She sees her perfectly planned future and suddenly, it doesn't sound half as interesting as hanging around an ice-cold rink, watching you skate for hours and hours. She loses interest in things she needs to survive, like food and sleep and the ability to drive a car. Every guy she comes across is nothing compared to you, even the ones who look a bit like you. She can't hear Adagio for Strings without remembering you when you won your gold medal." Amy's voice softened. "Four years ago, you played someone whose heart had been torn apart by war. Today, you look it in real life. Whenever I hear that music, it makes me think of how sad you were when I saw you at the wedding."

Rich didn't say anything, but he did look less grim.

"I started feeling guilty about turning you down," she murmured.

"You had every right to do it," Rich said. "I didn't blame you for choosing a future you thought was better."

"But it wasn't better-that's my point! That's why I'm here today, because I looked at my future without you and I didn't like what I saw."

"What did you see?"

Amy took a deep breath. "I was lonely. I was successful and I had a beautiful apartment and no one called me Charlotte Lucas' little sister anymore, but I was so sad. I would work all day and come home to an empty house...with a cat."

"What's wrong with a single woman with a cat?"

"I don't know. It's a cliché, I guess, that when a woman can't find a man she ends up with a cat...or a dozen cats, or something like that. I don't even like cats. But because you weren't there, I felt this sense of loss. I felt as though I was missing out on something special. I don't want to miss that."

Rich nodded slowly. "Amy, I just want to know one thing before we go any further."

"What?"

"Are you going to regret giving up your internship to be with me? Because if you have any doubts, I want you to go home and spend your summer doing what you'd planned to do."

"I don't have a doubt that I'm exactly where I should be. I'm here with you."

Amy bit her lip, nervous that he was about tell her to go back to the hotel, pack her bags and go home. When his hand reached across the table to caress her cheek, Amy felt such shattering relief that she nearly wept. She maintained her composure, however, and smiled at him.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you for choosing me."

The telephone was ringing in Anne's room when she returned. She picked it up, wondering who could possibly be calling her. "Hello?"

"Anne, darling! There you are at last! I was afraid you were going to be out all evening and not get the rest you needed in order to skate well." It was Susan.

Anne checked her watch. "It's only four-fifteen," Anne said. "I wasn't thinking of going to bed for hours." And possibly even longer than that, if I can't manage to get Frederick Wentworth out of my head for seven hours.

"Is it? Oh. I'm sorry. You know how I tend to lose track of time. I've been working on a new routine for you and-"

"You don't have to do that." Anne sat down heavily on the bed. "I've got a lovely program now. What do I need with a new one?"

"For the fall season, dearest! You need something to dazzle the judges at the World Professionals', of course, and there are a couple of competitions-national coverage on the Network. You'll need something much better than that old "Alone" program."

Anne felt a slight sting at the criticism of her current skating number. She had choreographed "Alone" and felt a strong connection to the music. It was, she felt, one of the best programs she'd ever had, surpassing even her Olympic artistic program. And as for Susan calling it "old," well, she'd never skated it in public. It was a routine she'd had...

Anne brushed the thought out of her mind and instead concentrated on her conversation. "I would rather go with my program, Susan."

"Well, if you want to skate to it while you're on that tour, that's fine, but you need something special for the fall."

"Can we discuss this when I get back home to Kellynch?" Anne asked.

"Whatever you wish. Now..." Susan's voice dropped, making it more difficult for Anne to hear her. "I know you had to see him today. How did it go?"

Anne hesitated. She wasn't sure herself how it had gone, as Frederick had spent most of his time ignoring her. But in those few minutes they'd had alone...

"I suppose...it went as well as could be expected. It wasn't easy for either of us. We didn't say much to each other, but...but I'm glad it's over."

"Over? You're spending the entire summer traveling about the country with him."

"I know that, but I meant that the first meeting was over. We haven't spoken to each other in eight years. I was afraid that we'd just break into an argument in the restaurant, but...we were polite." Sort of.

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing much. I just asked how James was doing." Anne racked her brain trying to remember what else they'd talked about, but she couldn't remember anything aside from the prevailing thought in her head that he hadn't changed at all in eight years. He was still as handsome as he'd been the last time they'd seen each other in person.

"Did he say anything?"

"No...really, Susan, it wasn't anything serious. We were seated at the same table for about three hours and barely spoke to each other. But the good thing about this is that I know now that I can be around him and not..."

"Not what?"

Susan would want to examine that issue. "Not be uncomfortable," she finished weakly. "Now, enough about Frederick Wentworth. He is dull, dry history. Tell me, how's Maralys?"

"Mary Elizabeth is doing as well as she ever does," Susan replied. "If only I'd been able to take her in hand as I did you, but she would go her own way! Always insisting on doing whatever she pleased and never giving a thought about her future. She called me last week, said she'd been on the ice recently. I think she was wondering if I'd be interested in coaching her."

"She's not thinking of leaving Chuck, is she?" Anne fretted. Maralys had always been the livewire of the family, histrionic, temperamental, needy. If she hadn't had such a good heart underneath it all, Anne might not have loved her as much.

"Of course not, though she says she is. Mary Elizabeth might not be the smartest girl I've ever seen, but she knows that since your career's taken off she needs someone to care for her all the time."

"So, are you thinking about coaching her?"

"I couldn't leave you, but...she is your sister. She's my dear Patricia's daughter. I feel that I can't just abandon her to..."

"To Dad," Anne finished.

"I hate speaking ill of your father, Annie, but I still think your mother's death has something to do with-"

"When Mom was alive, Dad was exactly the same. You just didn't notice him being a jerk because she was there to cover up for him." Anne sighed. She, like Susan, didn't like to speak badly about her father. But there was too much of the past between them for her to ever consider forging any sort of relationship with him. "If you want to help out Maralys, do it. I'm all for her getting back into skating if that's what she wants."

"Are you sure? Because I wouldn't want to divide my attention-"

"Susan..." Anne smiled. "I'm twenty-six years old. I think I can take care of myself. I'm on this stupid tour, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are."

"Okay, then. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"But what about the program I've done for you?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "Fax it to me. I'll call you when I reach a fax machine and you can send me your notes and the music you want me to use and we'll go from there. Okay? You go to Nebraska, give Maralys all my love, and get her back where she belongs-on the ice."

"All right, then. I will." Susan hesitated, and Anne thought she'd hung up the phone. But then she said, "You haven't asked me about Alyssa."

Anne groaned. While Susan considered Anne her favorite of the Elliot sisters, she still cared a great deal for the other two. The rift between Alyssa and Anne hurt her.

"I'm sure she's doing fine no matter where she's at," Anne said coolly.

"I know that you're still upset about her asking your father to help train Penny Clay and drop you-"

"'Oh, Daddy, Penny needs your help. She's soooo talented but she's hopeless about what to do on the ice when she's not jumping. Anne doesn't need you. Anne's a hack. Anne's never going to become anything, and Maralys is going to Catherine de Bourgh. I'm good enough that I can take her under my wing and with your guidance, she could be among the elite skaters in the world.'" Anne's voice mimicked her older sister's perfectly.

"Alyssa-"

"And he agreed with her. He dropped me. Do you have any idea how it feels for your own father to drop you as if you were nothing? As if I weren't good enough for him?"

"Anne, you don't understand."

"I understand perfectly. So please, Susan, don't ask me to ask after them. I don't care about them anymore, and they've made it perfectly clear that they don't care about me."

"All right, I'm sorry. I'll go now." Susan sounded hurt.

Anne sighed. She knew Susan meant well, but... "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't snap at you like that. I mean, if you hadn't have stepped in when you did...I wouldn't be here now."

"You would've made it someday. I know it. I'll talk to you in a few days."

"Okay. Bye." Anne hung up the phone and stretched out on the bed.

"How is Susan?...Still keeping a close watch on your life?"

Anne frowned. Frederick and Susan hadn't gotten along that summer, and she had never figured out why. Susan thought Frederick was a dilettante with no real talent for skating. Frederick thought Susan was an opinionated busybody who was jealous of anyone who befriended Anne.

Both of them had been wrong, of course, but Anne had been unable to make either of them believe it. And now it was too late. Frederick had made it perfectly clear to her that he wanted nothing to do with her.

Tears brimming in her eyes, Anne tried to focus on a happier memory, something with her mother perhaps, but all she could think about was that summer, and happy memories she had shared with Frederick...

Anne was always the first to the ice. Frederick was a perennially late sleeper and was known to show up at ten o'clock, unless he was in a competition. Then, more often than not, he didn't sleep and was able to show up early.

Susan looked upon such behavior as foolish. "I'm amazed he's gotten as far as he has," she said disdainfully. "One of these days, he's going to severely injure himself from lack of sleep or miss a competition because he's lolling about in bed."

"He doesn't seem to have done so badly up till now," Anne defended as she laced up her skates.

"Yes, well, if he didn't have one of the best coaches in England to guide him, we wouldn't bother knowing him."

"'We wouldn't bother knowing him?' Susan, are you listening to yourself? This isn't the 1800's. We're almost ten years away from a new millennium."

"Anne, darling, I know that you have more knowledge about the skating world than most eighteen-year-olds, so surely you should realize by now that there are some people it would be best to avoid and others you need to impress as much as possible."

Anne looked down at her skates. "A lot of people would say that Frederick and I are on the same level," she said.

"Nonsense. Your mother was Patricia Elliot. Your father was Walter Elliot."

"My mother is dead and my father has decided that he's wasted enough precious years of training on me." Anne blinked back the tears that formed, still remembered all too well the conversation she'd overheard between her older sister and her father. It shouldn't have surprised her that Alyssa would do anything to get her father's undivided attention. Never mind that she already had it, the fact that Anne was even in the same rink with her rankled.

So Anne was out, even though she wasn't to know until she came home from England. Maralys was going to train with Lady Cat. Alyssa was going to have her father all to herself and would go on to win a gold medal.

Thank God for Susan. When Anne had come to her, shattered from her sister's betrayal, Susan had volunteered to become Anne's coach and make it sound as though it had been Anne's idea to part ways with her father.

The problem was, Susan didn't have Patricia Elliot's wisdom when it came to skating and, not being her mother, didn't have the intuition to do what was best for Anne. She also didn't have Patricia's experience within the world of competitive skating. Though she loved the sport dearly, the closest Susan ever came to world-class skating was when she choreographed Patricia's gold-medal program. She'd remained one of the better-known and respected choreographers, but had little knowledge beyond it.

That was the actual reason for their trip to England. In Susan's eyes, Anne was perfect and needed no help from anyone. She'd had Patricia for a coach for twelve years, hadn't she? But Susan needed to know the ropes and had been petrified to ask any of the major American coaches for help. Susan looked outside of the U.S. and found James Benwick, who had coached several silver and bronze medallists and had a potential gold medallist in Frederick Wentworth. She'd called and suggested spending the summer in order to learn from each other. James agreed, since Frederick needed someone to help with his artistry and, from watching the tapes on Anne, knew she needed someone to help her with her jumps.

"I think Alyssa was very wrong to do what she did," Susan said quietly. "I wish there was something I could do to change it."

"But you can't," Anne said brokenly. "So we're here and hopefully I'll learn enough to beat her the next time we're competing against each other."

"That's the spirit!" Susan smiled. Her gaze flickered over the empty rink. "Go ahead and warm up before that boy gets here."

"That boy? Susan, Frederick is older than I am. That hardly makes him a boy."

Susan's smile faded. "You know, Anne, if I didn't know better, I would say you liked him."

Anne was puzzled. "He's a nice guy," she said with a shrug. "Why shouldn't I like him? He's fun to be around and he's a good skater."

Susan shook her head. "As long as that's all the farther it goes, it's fine."

Anne rolled her eyes and stood up. She slipped her blade guards off. "So nice to know that I have your approval to like someone," she said, stepping onto the ice and pushing away from the boards before Susan could say anything more.

Frederick made his usual late-morning appearance, giving Susan an apologetic, boyish grin as he stepped onto the ice. He made no spoken apology to his coach, who had been at the rink since eight waiting for his student, but then Jamie, as he'd insisted to be called from the moment they'd met, was used to waiting for Frederick.

"Good morning, Heavenly," he called to Anne.

"Morning, Lucifer. Out late with the pitchfork and brimstone again?"

"Of course. What else would make me so late?"

"The fact that you don't sleep like normal people?"

"What's normal? Skating isn't, that's for sure. What's normal about a sport where you're expected to get up at five in the morning?"

Anne giggled. In the two weeks that she'd been in England, this had become their daily routine. Frederick had taken to calling her "Heavenly" because he said she looked like an angel. Anne had blushed and, to cover her flustered feelings, retaliated by calling him "Lucifer" for his devilish good looks. She teased him about showing up late, he teased her about being a good girl and getting to the rink early.

"Anne! Frederick's music is about to come on!" Susan shouted.

Anne started to skate away from him, but Frederick unexpectedly grasped one of her gloved hands. "You don't have to leave," he said.

"But you're about to start skating. I can't be in the way."

"You won't be," he assured her. "Just stand over there, across the way from Susan and Jamie, and you'll be fine."

"But-"

"Anne! Would you please get off the ice? I don't want you to get in his way and get hurt! Frederick, you need to let her go!"

Anne started to pull away, but found Frederick gripping her hand tighter. "Do you do everything she says?" he asked.

"Well...well...of course I do. She's my coach, after all."

"But not your lady and mistress. Jamie tells me to do a lot of things, but I don't do every single one." Frederick's eyes looked hopeful. "Please?"

Frederick's music started playing, so he had no choice but to let her go. Anne made a hasty decision and, rather than skate back to Susan, skated to the other side to watch Frederick. She couldn't quite figure out why he'd wanted her to stand over here, since she could see him just as well if she were standing outside the ice with Susan and Jamie.

Frederick skated well, though he seemed more like a robot than a skater-everything was done with precision but without passion. When he came to a quick, jerky stop in front of Anne, he said quickly, "Go out with me tonight."

Anne barely had time to register his words before he was off again, as though running a race. Frederick continued to skate, and when he came back to face her in a spread eagle that meandered the length of the ice, he raised his palms up as if to say, "Well?"

Anne waited for his program to end before skating over to where he was holding his finishing pose to say, "Okay, but we can't stay out too late. I have to be here early tomorrow."

"We'll see about that, Heavenly," he murmured as they skated to the boards, where their coaches had their heads together, talking furiously about what needed to be changed about Frederick's program. "We'll just see."

Anne rolled onto her side. Maybe Frederick had a small point about how protective Susan was, but it was only in her best interests. Susan had never deliberately done anything to hurt her, despite what Frederick had said. It was clear from his comment about her at lunch that he still blamed Susan for their estrangement.

If he'd asked, she could've told him that his thinking was all wrong. Susan had actually encouraged her to keep in touch with Frederick. He was the one who had decided not to get in touch with her. So if anyone was to blame for their break-up, it was Frederick.

Frederick had a room just down the hall from Anne's. He'd been offered the opportunity to go out with Fitz and Charles Bingham, who had planned to see about a Yankees game, but he decided to stay in his hotel room instead because he wanted to call Hannah.

"How did it go?" Hannah asked.

"Fairly well," Frederick replied. "I got a chance to have a good talk with Rich Fitzwilliam. It was surprising how friendly he is. I always thought he was a bit of a jerk after that incident with Georgiana Darcy last year when he accused her of trying to sabotage his relationship with Lydia Bennet, but he's not so bad."

"I thought she did try to ruin his relationship."

"I don't think so, considering the fact that she's married with a baby that was obviously conceived at last year's Worlds."

"What about everyone else?"

"Everyone was fine. I'm glad I signed on."

"And Anne Elliot?"

Frederick knew she'd ask about her. It was odd. Hannah had never shown the slightest bit of envy for any woman in the years they'd been together, but bring up an eight-year-old scandal that he'd insisted was nothing much and suddenly she was on full alert. Perhaps she sensed that he was lying.

"Things weren't easy between us...the past and all that. But I suppose it went as well as could be expected."

"The past?"

"Well, how would you like to be seated next to the man who caused you to be called a leech? It was uncomfortable for her as well."

"Frederick...."

Frederick wasn't about to expose the jagged, faded scar of eight years earlier over a telephone, even if he was to blame for Hannah not knowing all the facts about his relationship with Anne. "I need to go," he said.

"But you just called a second ago!" Hannah exclaimed.

"I know, and I'm sorry. But Fitz and Charles Bingham offered me a ticket to the baseball game they're going to see tonight, and you know how curious I am about baseball."

"Almost as curious as you are about American football."

"Yes."

"All right, then. Consider this conversation temporarily stalled...soon to be resurrected. I think it's time you told me all about Anne."

Frederick sighed. So Hannah had suspected all along. She had been right-he'd been denying it too vehemently.

"I shall," he promised before hanging up the phone.

Frederick lay on his bed, thinking about Anne. He supposed he'd handled himself well today. He hadn't snapped her head off as he'd been tempted to do, but it was a good thing that her evil coach and surrogate parent, Susan Russell, had chosen to absent herself from the tour. Frederick swore he wouldn't have been responsible for his actions if he'd been forced to travel on a tour bus with her for four months. He was amazed that Anne had agreed to come without her, or that she could make any decision without Susan's assistance.

Frederick got up from the bed and over to the dresser, where his duffel bag was sitting. He unzipped a side compartment and reached into the bag, pulling out a small jewelry box. He didn't need to open it to know exactly what was inside. He'd carried it around for eight years, a reminder of how foolish he'd been.

In the hopes that someday you could give it to her.

Frederick brushed that forbidden thought aside and continued to think about what had happened with Anne at lunch. She still thought Susan could do no wrong, if her defense of her was any indication. Frederick wished she would've believed him when he'd told her what Susan had done, but she wouldn't listen. And she'd never responded to any of the dozens of letters he'd sent in that first year, until that last one. He put a hand to his heart as if to soothe the ache caused by the letter which had shattered his hopes permanently.

It was clear that she still thought he was to blame for what had happened between them, his "unfounded jealousy and suspicion" of Susan. But the truth of the matter was, if anyone was to blame for their relationship ending, it was Anne.

Part 5

The next morning saw everyone skating on the tour awaken early to get to the rink in order to rehearse for the opening and closing numbers and to work out any kinks that might remain in their individual programs. It also provided some of them with the first chance they would have to get used to the lighting. Unlike amateur skating, where the lights were on full, professional skating involved colored lights, spotlights and shadows. If a skater wasn't used to these things, skating could be hazardous.

"I hope to God they didn't choose "Venus" for the ladies this time," Lizzy muttered as she finished lacing her skates. "I hate that song, and I hated the idea John Thorpe had about us forming a woman's figure on the ice."

"Trust John to come up with that one," Charlotte replied as she stretched her right leg. "That right there should've told me something was up with him."

"As I recall, you were well-informed about his reputation before you two got engaged," Georgiana said.

"I was. I just didn't realize he was going to continue that behavior after we got engaged. Sometimes I think nearly dying was a good thing."

"How is that?"

"Well, if I hadn't wound up in a coma, Carl wouldn't have ever gotten up the courage to tell me that he loved me and I wouldn't have realized what a jerk John was." Charlotte switched to her left leg. "Then again, maybe I would've. The reason I was going home was because my father had pneumonia. John didn't want me flying home because he was scared to fly."

"Seriously? I never knew that," Lizzy said.

"Oh, yeah. He'd been in a plane crash years earlier," Georgiana told her. "I thought everyone knew that."

Lizzy shrugged. "I never really liked the guy, so his personal history wasn't something I went out and memorized." She stretched her arms over her head. "So you were saying, Charlotte?"

"John and I had a big fight right before I left. He insisted I stay to help him get through the flight home. I gave him back the engagement ring---threw it at him, actually---and told him that if he was so selfish as to keep me from my possibly dying father, I didn't want to marry him."

"And then Carl was at the hospital and told you he loved you," Lizzy finished with a smile. "Everyone talked about how devoted he was to you, Charlotte. It was so romantic."

Charlotte smiled wistfully, thinking of the rest of the story---the one her friends hadn't heard, about how close she came to having an unfamiliar face and how she'd foolishly thought John had been so devoted to her. How very close she came to not finding out how Carl really felt about her.

But that was all in the past. One shouldn't live in the past, but should look ahead to a bright future, and right now, that's exactly what she intended to do.

"I can't wait to see Carl's routine," Charlotte said.

"What do you mean, see Carl's routine? Don't you see it all the time in practice?" Georgiana asked.

"I wish I could, but he never performs it for me."

Lizzy and Georgiana exchanged looks. "Then when does he practice it?" Lizzy asked.

"I'm convinced that he does it when I'm at yoga, because that's about the only time we're not at the rink together. He says he wanted it to be a surprise for me the first time I saw him skate it, so I'm thinking it's a love song. I just can't think of what."

"That's so sweet," Georgiana said.

"It's not something Fitz could get away with doing," Lizzy added. "I just have to put up with usual---chocolates, flowers, romantic dinners for two, ideas for new programs for us to do together...."

"Stop it. You're making me jealous," Charlotte said.

"Me, too."

Lizzy grinned, which relieved Charlotte. The change in Lizzy's attitude was remarkable, and it seemed as though she had decided to take her advice and not worry about the baby situation.

"Do you think the music would have something to do with you?" Lizzy asked. "Maybe the song you danced to at your wedding?"

"We danced to everything under the sun at my wedding, so it's a distinct possibility. I also thought that maybe my name was in the song, but the only song I could think of with the word 'Charlotte' in the title was that song by the Statler Brothers about a woman with a bad reputation called 'Charlotte's Web.' I would hope that's not it."

"Oh, I remember that song!" Georgiana exclaimed. She wrinkled her nose. "You're right, I don't know that I'd want my husband to skate to that in my honor."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's lovely," Lizzy reassured her friend.

"I don't know about that. Carl's got a bad sense of humor at times. For all I know, he might be planning to skate to 'Patricia the Stripper.' In a dress."

"Nah---Lloyd Eisler already did that. No novelty value to do it again," Lizzy said.

"This is true," Charlotte agreed. "So let's say that knowing Carl, it could be anything under the sun and wait to see what it is."

Right then, Anne Elliot arrived, dressed in an ordinary black skating costume with her white-blond hair pulled back into a tight knot at the back of her head.

"Good morning, Anne," Georgiana called as the young woman pulled her skates out of a bag.

Anne looked startled, as though she hadn't expected anyone to speak to her. When she turned to face them, the dark circles under her eyes betrayed her sleepless night. "Good morning, Georgiana," she replied politely.

Charlotte looked at Anne with great compassion. She, above anyone else on this tour, understood how far Anne had come with her skating because she'd done almost as well as Anne four years ago. She knew what it was like to have few hopes for a medal because there was always someone better, brighter, more athletic or artistic than you around. She knew what it felt like to be overlooked by the entire skating world, to be in the shadows and suddenly be thrown into the sunlight.

Anne, unfortunately, was much more shy than Charlotte had ever been. Charlotte had secretly decided that while she was on this tour, she was going to help the new ladies' gold medallist come out of her shell and start living life the way she deserved. She knew what her husband would say if he knew what she was thinking, but she didn't care. She just had a feeling that behind the wall Anne had erected around herself was someone worth knowing and being friends with.

Frederick was already on the ice, although he wasn't practicing his part of the opening introductions. He was mentally replaying his program, wondering if maybe it wasn't too dull a choice for the excitement of a tour. He'd never been on a tour before, but he knew that a lot of skaters chose the opportunity to let loose and skate to music they couldn't get away with at the amateur level. Already he'd heard of what several others intended to skate to, including the secret number Carl Denny planned to dedicate to his wife.

Compared to some of the musical selections he'd heard mentioned, music from Casablanca seemed old. It was an old program he'd been tinkering with for several years, back in the first days after Anne had left England, remembering that it was her favorite movie. If he'd seen her sometime within the year after that, and been able to skate the program, perhaps things might've worked out. But she hadn't, and he hadn't, and so the program sat in the back of his mind and occasionally he skated to it, if only to keep it in his memory.

Now it was his choice for the summer, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do it after all. Anne might think he was meaning more than he did. And the more he thought about it, the more he wished he'd chosen something more recent. Something that didn't have a message behind it---or appear to have a message, that is.

Maybe it wasn't too late. He had that old Glory routine from years ago, but he'd heard someone mention that Marc Gercourt planned to skate to that. Or maybe the Ravel selections...

No. He'd been practicing this one, and he would stick with it. And if Anne Elliot presumed anything because of it, he'd tell her she was wrong.

Most of the practice time the day before the tour started was spent practicing the unfamiliar opening and closing numbers, in which all the skaters would take part and be introduced. A full rehearsal of the show, however, was necessary in order for the technicians to know where to position the lights (and more importantly, where not to position the lights) during a particular skater or pair's program.

The show was broken up into two halves, with a fifteen-minute intermission between. After the opening skate, Charlotte would open the first half of the show and Carl would skate last, with some of the lesser-known skaters appearing. The second half of the show would be opened by Georgiana and ended by Rich, with Lizzy and Fitz, Frederick, and Anne skating in that half as well.

The opening went about as well as anything could on one day's rehearsal. Charlotte stayed on the ice as everyone else departed and awaited her announcement--done today for the rehearsal by Rich, who was holding a microphone on the pretense of making sure it worked.

"Ladies and gents, boys and girls, you are about to witness the most underrated ladies' skater in the history of figure skating take the ice. Winner of a bronze medal, devoted wife of Mr. Carl Denny and awfully good-looking-"

"That's my wife you're talking about, pal!" Carl shouted amidst the laughter. "Hold off on the comments about her looks!"

"Here she is, Charlotte Denny!"

There was a smattering of applause from the skaters who'd gathered at the boards. Charlotte bowed to them and waited for her music to start. She saw Carl out of the corner of her eye and just before her music from Much Ado About Nothing started, she winked at him.

Standing at the side, watching Charlotte skate, Frederick felt a little better about his choice. He'd been afraid that everyone would be skating to fast-paced rock numbers, but Charlotte's choice proved him wrong.

Lizzy watched Charlotte's performance with mixed emotions. Of course Charlotte was hardly likely to remember it, but Lizzy did---all too well. Much Ado About Nothing had been the music Lydia had intended to skate to for her short program four years ago.

It seemed odd, somehow, remembering that Lydia was dead. Even though the sisters had never been very close, and in the last three years of Lydia's life they'd barely spoken, Lizzy missed her so much sometimes. Charlotte was right---if Lydia hadn't gone along with George Wickham's plan, she would've won four years ago and would probably be skating in this tour today.

Charlotte finished skating to more applause. Fitz and Lizzy drifted off to find something else to do. There was a rumor that George gotten The Addams Family pinball game back, and as Lizzy had plenty of time before it was her turn to skate, she was determined to master it before anyone else. Fitz was determined to beat her for once in his life, but as she had sixteen years more experience at pinball than he did, he had a feeling it was a lost cause.

That was where Charlotte found them minutes before Carl was set to take the ice, still concentrating hard on the game. Lizzy was playing, frowning slightly when the ball got away from her. "Dammit," she hissed under her breath as her game ended.

Charlotte looked at Lizzy's score. "Every time we go on tour, you insist on setting the pinball high score," she grumbled. "You never give any of us a chance to win. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you practice this harder than you practice skating."

"I do make a point of playing a few games on the computer every day, but every game is different," Lizzy pointed out in her defense.

"Yes. I'm amazed that I'm able to get her away from the computer anymore," Fitz added.

"Well, give it up for now. It's almost time to see what Carl's been cooking."

Lizzy abandoned her game and wandered back up to the ice, passing several of the Russian skaters who were soundly trouncing William Collins at darts. Lizzy reminded herself yet again not to get suckered into a game with them, because they were the masters of the dart board.

Helena Hampton had just finished skating as Lizzy and Charlotte reached the boards. Helena bowed a few times and then left the ice. Rich, who still had that microphone, picked up an index card.

"I want you guys to know that I'm doing this under protest," Rich said. "I didn't come up with this intro. Ladies and gentlemen, next to take the ice is one of the premier skaters in the professional world today. Winner of the silver medal in 199-, current World Professional champion---though I still want a recount---all-around hunk and hopelessly devoted to his wife, Charlotte, to whom this little number is dedicated, here is Carl "Egotistical Show-Off" Denny!"

Everyone who had heard of Carl's program had gathered by the ice. Carl gave Rich a dirty look and swore retribution before gliding to the center of the ice.

Charlotte looked confused when the country song started playing, not sure why Carl would dedicate this song to her. She didn't have a clue as to what it was until the words started to play, and by the time the song's value became apparent to her, everyone around her was in stitches, though whether it was because of the choice, the look on her face, or Carl's skating, she didn't know.

There's a little girl in our neighborhood
Her name is Charlotte Johnson and she's really looking good
I had to go and see her, so I called her on the phone
I walked over to her house, and this was going on

Her brother was on the sofa, eatin' chocolate pie
Her mama was in the kitchen, cuttin' chicken up to fry
Her daddy was in the backyard, rollin' up a garden house
I was on the porch with Charlotte, feeling' love down to my toes

And we were swingin'
Yeah, we were swingin'
Little Charlotte, she's as pretty as the angels when they sing
I can't believe I'm out here on her front porch in the swing
A swingin'

Now Charlotte she's a darlin', she's the apple of my eye
When I'm on the swing with her, it makes me almost high
And Charlotte is my lover and she has been since this spring
I just can't believe it started on her front porch in the swing

We were swingin'
Yeah, just a swingin'
Little Charlotte, she's as pretty as the angels when they sing
I can't believe I'm out here on her front porch in the swing
A swingin'...

"Oh, my God!" Charlotte shrieked as Carl skated. "I'm going to kill him!"

"Hey, it's better than being a girl with a bad reputation," Lizzy pointed out.

"I think it's kind of cute," Fitz added as the music ended and Carl, on his knees, skidded across the ice.

"Is it safe for me to go over there?" he called.

"I think so," Lizzy yelled back.

"I don't!" Charlotte retorted, but anyone could see from the gleam in her eyes that she was flattered. Carl got off of his knees, took his bows, and skated over to her.

"Now, honey, don't be mad. I heard this song one day when I was looking for music to skate to and I couldn't resist."

"I bet you put up a real struggle, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. It was hard, too." Carl stepped off the ice and put on his skate guards.

Charlotte grabbed him and dragged him away from rink side.

"They're probably heading off to some closet to kiss and make up," Fitz said.

"Closets are funny things, aren't they?" Lizzy mumbled. She had unfortunately just spotted William Collins, who had reappeared with the Russian skaters. He was apologizing for not being much competition for them.

"I fear my darts skills are well below yours, Ilia, but I'll try to improve," he was saying.

Lizzy rolled her eyes and tried not to think of how close William Collins came to ruining her life for good.

"Okay, we're skipping over the intermission and going right on to..." Rich looked around the rink. "Where is she? Georgiana! Yo, Georgie! It's your turn out here!"

Georgiana had been napping in one of the seats, having been up late because Bridget couldn't sleep. Emma, who was skating third in the second half, walked over to the sleeping girl and gently shook her. "Georgiana, it's your turn," she said.

Georgiana stirred slowly, blinked several times, and looked around as though she had no idea where she was. "Oh, no," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay," Emma replied. "I know how it is when you've got a baby."

Georgiana smiled sleepily but got up, stretching. Something occurred to her and she groaned. "Oh, no. I missed Carl's program, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Lizzy said. "Don't worry. You've got a few months to see it."

"Yeah, but I wanted to see Charlotte's face when she found out he was skating to that 'Swinging' song."

"I thought you didn't know!" Lizzy exclaimed.

"Fitz told me." Georgiana shook off the last remnants of sleep, took off her skate guards and stepped onto the ice. She nodded at Rich.

"Ladies and gents, four years ago this young woman took the world by storm with her artistic grace and beauty. After a break to get a real life, she's back. Please welcome Olympic gold medallist and proud mama to Bridget Elena Sullivan, Georgiana Darcy!"

Georgiana took the ice with a tremulous smile on her face, grateful that Rich hadn't thought to include any of the bitter thoughts he no doubt still thought of her. It would've served her right if he had included the fact that, with an interview she'd granted Bret at last year's Worlds, she'd signed Lydia Bennet's death warrant.

With a deep breath to expel all thoughts and especially those of last spring, Georgiana waited for her music to begin. Moments after it had, all she concentrated on was the ice, her skating and Cavalleria Rusticana.

Triple flip, double toe loop...yes!...okay, layback spin, make sure to get full extension on the arms...here comes the triple lutz...yes!

When Georgiana finished, she was startled to hear boisterous applause. She turned back to see that everyone had gathered to see her skate. She bowed to them and blew them a kiss, and the niggling doubts she'd harbored about her return were finally, at long last, laid to rest.

Emma was the third to skate and she skated to music from Sleeping Beauty, which everyone agreed suited her well. After a pair of former ice dancing champions and a pairs' couple who had never won a medal but pleased the crowds came Anne.

Anne had been listening to Rich Fitzwilliam make his goofy announcements and worried about what he'd say about her. She didn't know him very well and she wasn't the sort of skater he would've noticed before this past February. She figured he'd say something about being a mystery or a surprise or something like that.

"Ladies and gents, our next skater is quite simply one of the loveliest skaters on the ice. With her dazzling athleticism and her natural grace, she won Olympic gold and reminded people of another classic skater of days gone by---her mother. Here she is, Anne Elliot."

Anne flushed deeply as she heard some applause for her. She wasn't sure if it was the gracious way Rich had spoken of her or if it was the comparison to her mother, which no one ever made. She skated to where she would start her program and sat down on the ice, looking down as though she could see her reflection in it.

Her music started, and all of the sudden Anne was struck by what message her music might send out and she froze.

Dear God, he might still think I'm in love with him!

But you are still in love with him, silly.

Anne barely heard her music. She put her hands over her face and groaned softly. She was supposed to be up now, spinning and looking lost and lonely. All she could think about was how desperate her music choice must seem. Now everyone would know how lonely she was, and he would know that still pined for him.

"Anne? Are you all right?" she heard someone---was it Charlotte?---call out.

"I-I'm fine," she murmured, but even she couldn't hear herself. She cleared her throat and said, "I'm fine. Would it be possible for someone to start my music again?"

"Sure---hey, Roger! We need to back that up!" Rich called into the microphone. Anne straightened up.

Let's face facts. You still love him, but you hate him, too. He broke your heart when he never called after you left England. He said he loved you but at the first test of it, he backed away. This is your chance to show him how you felt, how much he hurt you, to make him feel GUILTY for once in his life about what he's done. Prove to him that Susan didn't come between the two of you!

"I'm ready," she said quietly, looking down at the ice and waiting again for her music to start. And when it did, she started skating her program.

I hear the ticking of the clock
I'm lying here the room's pitch dark
I wonder where you are tonight
No answer on the telephone
And the night goes by so very slow
Oh, I hope that it won't end, though
Alone

Till now I always got by on my own
I never really cared until I met you
And now it chills me to the bone
How do I get you alone?
How do I get you alone?

You don't know how long I have wanted
To touch your lips and hold you tight
You don't know how long I have waited
And I was gonna tell you tonight
But the secret is still my own
And my love for you is still unknown
Alone

Till now I always got by on my own
I never really cared until I met you
And now it chills me to the bone
How do I get you alone?
How do I get you alone?

Anne finished her program by sitting on the ice once again, her knees drawn to her chest, chin on her knees, looking despondent. When she finished, she heard the applause and knew she had to acknowledge it. Her attention remained focused on one person's reaction, however, and she knew he was there.

It did her heart good to see the bewildered look on his face.

What on earth did she mean with that? Frederick thought, utterly confused. Does she mean to say that she's still in love with me? That she's loved me all this time?

He watched her bow gracefully to the small audience watching her before skating to the boards and stepping off the ice. Had it been his imagination, or had she been looking at him as she'd finished her program? Had there been some sort of message attached to that song?

Surely not. There couldn't possibly be, because if she'd loved him as her musical selection indicated, she would never have written that letter. She may look like an angel, but she didn't act like one. She was a temptress, a siren, a flirt and deceiver and everything the press had called her when someone had sicced the press on their little summer interlude.

Frederick caught her staring at him and turned away, heading for the dressing room, where he'd left his duffel bag. He had to wait for three more routines, just enough time to remind him of Anne Elliot's treachery and deceit. Like the jewelry box, it was something he always carried with him.

Lizzy and Fitz skated after Anne. Rich smiled at them and turned to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, the couple who will be skating next is skating's answer to Romeo and Juliet. She was the beautiful daughter of Frances Bennet. He was the talented cousin and protégé of Catherine de Bourgh. Against all odds, they fell in love and have reigned supreme ever since. I give you the beautiful, talented, artistic, athletic, angelic, magnificent, gold-medal winning Lizzy Bennet---"

"What am I, chopped liver?" Fitz asked, frowning.

"And her partner, Chopped Liver!" Rich ducked out of the way of the skate guard Fitz hurled at him before Lizzy grabbed his hand and dragged him onto the ice.

"I'm going to get him one of these days," Fitz muttered as they skated to center ice.

"Aah, don't. This is the happiest I've seen him in quite some time." Lizzy made her bow and faced him.

"And what about you, Mrs. Darcy? Are you happy?"

Lizzy frowned. "Why wouldn't I be happy?" she asked as the music started.

"You haven't been happy since we won the gold medal. You won't tell me why, and quite honestly, it's starting to irritate me."

"Do you really want to have this discussion now? We're supposed to be skating." Lizzy was about to push off but Fitz grasped her hands. "Fitz, stop this."

"Lizzy, please don't shut me out. You're my wife, and if something is troubling you, I want to know what it is so I can help you get through it."

Lizzy stopped pushing against him, knowing he would stand there until this time tomorrow if she didn't tell him something. But she couldn't tell him the truth, because it would only make him angry. At the same time, she hated lying to him.

"I know you don't want to, but I still want to have a baby," she blurted out. "And I know what you're about to say but I don't care." She didn't tell him the rest, because she'd have to reveal that she'd gone behind his back and gone off birth control and besides, she was taking Charlotte's advice and not thinking about it. She'd done a pretty good job of that last night.

"Lizzy---"

"I know that getting to his point has been our dream since we were children, and winning the gold medal was everything I thought it would be, but now that's over. I'm ready to climb a new mountain. I'm ready to have a baby, but I need to know if you are, too."

Fitz sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I wanted to enjoy this success because it's taken us so long to get here, but if you're not happy now that we've made it...I hate seeing you so unhappy."

"I know." Lizzy blinked back tears.

"Maybe we could reach a compromise about this. Let's get through this tour, okay? When the tour is over, we'll...well, you know."

"Work on getting pregnant?"

"Yeah."

"It might take a lot of work on your part." Lizzy looked up at him to find him grinning devilishly at her.

"I certainly hope so," Fitz replied.

"Do you two ever intend to start skating or should we skip you for now?" Rich yelled.

"Shoot," Lizzy murmured. To Rich she called, "Start our music over."

"Do you agree to wait until the tour is over?" Fitz asked.

Lizzy nodded. "When the tour is over." Or maybe sooner, if I can manage it.

Their music started. Although Fitz hadn't been sure about the music, and he'd hated the movie, Lizzy had convinced him that music from the last version of Romeo and Juliet would be great to skate to. Judging from the applause that greeted them when they'd finished skating, Lizzy had been right.

You were everything that was forbidden to me. You were the desserts I went without to keep my weight down, the music I wasn't allowed to skate to, the boys I never got to meet because I was so busy skating. You were the rebellion I wanted to have, and now I can go back to my skating, as I need to do. I needed you in my own way, but I think it would be for the best if we leave it at that and not attempt to make what was just a summer fling into something I don't need.

Please do not write to me again or attempt to contact me in any other way.

Anne

Frederick had read this letter so many times that he could quote it verbatim. He remembered the first time he'd read it, thinking that it was just another of Susan's tricks, but the handwriting had been Anne's. He'd received three notes from her during the course of that summer, notes he'd cherished and read as often as he'd read this one over the years. There was no mistaking the handwriting.

Frederick folded the note and stuck it in the envelope before anyone could see him reading it and ask what it was. He tucked it away, next to the jewelry box, and stood up.

That was what he needed to remind him that Anne's act on ice was just that, an act. She didn't love him. She never had, and it didn't matter that she'd seemed so hesitant to start her program and then looked so sad on the ice while she was skating. It was a lie.

The truth was in his hands, and he had to remember that. If he didn't, he would be in danger of falling in love with her all over again.

"Frederick?" he heard Rich calling. "Frederick Wentworth, current reigning gold medallist, you're wanted on the ice!"

"Hell," Frederick muttered as he stalked out of the locker room and toward the ice. He remembered just in the nick of time to take off his skate guards and skated briskly to the center. When his music started, all he could think about, however, was the first time he'd seen this movie.

He'd been with Anne. He could remember how she'd known the really good lines and could say them along with characters. She did a spot-on impersonation of Captain Renault.

Frederick went into his triple axel combination thinking about Anne, so it didn't surprise him when he over-rotated and landed on his behind on the ice. He got up slowly and then couldn't quite find his tempo, falling twice more and looking so unlike the gold medallist he was that he was embarrassed to be out on the ice. When his program mercifully came to an end, he nearly ran off the ice and disappeared quickly.

He didn't see Anne hiding in the seats, watching him and worrying, and wondering why he'd chosen to skate to music from her favorite movie.

Rich had intended on announcing himself, but at the last second Carl and Fitz wrestled the microphone out of his hands and Rich was left to hear the improvised introduction they'd cooked up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our last skater is a three-time Olympian with a big mouth," Fitz started. He handed the microphone to Carl.

"He goes by many names---Stud Muffin, Hot Pants, Fitzie-Pie, Hot Buns, Love Machine---"

"Hey!" Rich objected.

"---and now he's here to entertain you in his stole-half-his-moves-from-his-good-friend-Carl-and---"

"I didn't steal half my moves from you!"

"And-stole-the-rest-of-his-moves-from-Brian-Boitano style-"

"Can we get on with this already?"

Fitz took back microphone. "So let's hear it for skating's own copycat, Richard Fitzwilliam!"

"Okay, very funny, you two!" Rich shouted as he skated across the ice. He was doubled over, laughing so hard he almost missed the opening of his music, but when he started skating, he was flawless.

And he wasn't imitating anybody.

Continued In Next Section