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Part 17

Frederick was dumbfounded. "No baby?"

Dr. Janaway shook his head. "No."

"But...but she told me...she..." Frederick started to feel light-headed. "I think I need to sit down." A guiding hand took hold of his arm. He wasn't too surprised to find Anne shoving him back into the chair he'd recently vacated. "Did you get her parents?" he turned to her and asked.

"Yes, I did."

"And...and did they blame me? Do they..."

"I told you they wouldn't blame you. They were stunned to find out that Hannah was here, however. She obviously hadn't told them she was coming. I reassured them that you were here and would give them an update on her condition."

"Her condition...right. I can do that."

"Later, maybe. Right now, you look like you could use some water. I'll go get you some." Anne stood up.

"No!" Frederick grasped her arm. "Please, don't leave me. Not yet."

Anne reluctantly sat down. "I'm a friend of Frederick and Hannah's. Is she going to be all right?" she asked the doctor politely.

"We don't know at this stage. She had some swelling, which we're going to monitor closely. Right now, all we can do is wait and hope for the best. Miss...."

"Elliot. Anne Elliot."

"Miss Elliot, I think it would be a good idea if you were to take Mr. Wentworth home. There's nothing more he can do for her tonight."

"Can't I see her?" Frederick asked brokenly.

Dr. Janaway shook his head. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. Perhaps tomorrow, depending on how she's doing. If you have any more questions, please, feel free to speak to me."

"Thank you," Anne said quietly, shaking his hand and watching him walk away. Frederick hung his head.

"This isn't your fault," Anne repeated. "Her family understands."

"Did you explain the whole situation to them? That she was running away from a fight with me and that she thought she was pregnant?"

"I told them every----'thought'? What do you mean that she 'thought' she was pregnant?"

Frederick sighed. "One more wonderful twist to this tale. Hannah isn't pregnant after all. She lied to me."

"You weren't around when she took the pregnancy test?"

"Of course I wasn't, otherwise I would've known." Frederick tried to subdue the anger rising within him. "She offered to take a pregnancy test. Why would she have done that if she weren't really pregnant?"

"She may have thought she was," Anne said quietly. "Or hoped."

"If she didn't know for certain, she should've waited until she was sure before telling me."

"Frederick, you're not thinking of this from her side. If Hannah honestly thought she was pregnant, she wouldn't have had any hesitation about telling you. Maybe she had missed a period and presumed she was pregnant."

"She said she'd taken a test. This wasn't intuition or anything like that."

"They can be inaccurate. They come two in a packet, but I'm willing to bet she only used one to be sure. I can imagine how she felt when it told her she was pregnant. She probably didn't feel she needed to use the other one, because she already knew."

Frederick looked at her for a long minute. Never, he realized, had he loved her more than he did in this instant. She didn't know Hannah and she certainly had no reason to defend her, but that was just what she was doing.

"We're not going to know anything for certain until she wakes up," Anne said. "But for now, give her the benefit of the doubt. What reason would she have to lie to you?"

"I can name at least one," Frederick said bluntly. "You."

Anne shook her head. "I wish she'd talked to me rather than assumed something was going on. I would've told her that it was over with us a long time ago."

"She would've known better," Frederick told her. "She knew we were unfinished business. The way we ended....at some point, we were going to have to talk about it. She knew that. It's why she came, in part."

"I don't really think she would go that far to hang on to you." Anne paused. "Then again, maybe she would've. You're the sort of man women want to keep."

"I don't know why," Frederick scoffed. "Look at what I did to Hannah. For that matter, look at what I did to you."

Anne shook her head. "We did that to ourselves. I shouldn't have let Alyssa get to me like she did. If I hadn't left, we might be together now. It's hard to say."

"Do you resent the fact that..."

"More than anything. Susan left a message at the hotel. It was waiting for me when I checked in, along with one from my father."

"Your father? What did that son of an unnamed goat want with you?"

Anne smiled wryly. "I never got the chance to find out. I let him have it when I called. Probably something to do with Alyssa."

"What else?"

"Exactly." Anne hesitated slightly before taking one of his hands in hers. "Hannah's going to be all right, you know. But...her parents said they can't fly out."

Frederick nodded. "They both work...they own a bookstore, no other employees but them. They need the income. I'll end up offering them both a trip out, but they won't come. I wish at least one of them would."

"Maybe one of them will." Anne squeezed his hand and then let it go. "In the meantime, are you planning to go back to the hotel tonight?"

Frederick shook his head. "I'm staying with Hannah. It's the least I can do."

"Okay. I'm heading back now, so...I'll stop by tomorrow?"

"That would be nice." Or perhaps torturous, Frederick thought miserably as he watched her go.

Lizzy was transferred out of the ER soon after being examined by Dr. Morris. She was given a private room on the third floor and fell asleep on the trip up to the room. Fitz never got a chance to talk to her.

"Didn't Elizabeth tell you about the baby?"

It couldn't be possible. The day before they left for this tour, Lizzy had told him she had PMS. A woman didn't get PMS for no reason, which meant no baby. Lizzy herself had babbled that she wasn't pregnant right before she'd passed out again at the rink.

But Dr. Morris had sounded certain that Lizzy was pregnant. They'd drawn blood, perhaps for that very purpose. A blood test would've shown that she was pregnant, and it obviously had.

Pregnant. Lizzy's having a baby.

Fitz started feeling a bit light-headed, so he located the nearest chair and parked himself there. He felt a tension headache coming on.

It's nothing compared to the whopper Lizzy's going to have when she wakes up again. And she probably won't be able to take anything for it because of the baby.

There was that word again. Baby. Lizzy was having a baby, which meant he was going to be a father. It was a good thing he was sitting.

Fitz sighed and tried to make sense of his muddled feelings. Today had been a bit much for him, what with Lizzy's accident, the subsequent confession, and now this bit of news. Come to think of it, this whole tour was turning out to be a bit much. Because of this tour, he'd had a serious fight with Lizzy that had made him fear his marriage might end, he'd had a fight with Georgiana which he saw no easy way to make up for, and now this.

Was he happy that Lizzy was pregnant? Was he angry with her because she'd kept the fact that she was trying for a baby secret from him? Was he scared that something might go wrong with the pregnancy because of what had happened today?

Perhaps the most important question he thought of was: Had Lizzy known she was pregnant and kept the truth from him?

After careful consideration, he dismissed the last question with a resounding "no." Lizzy hadn't known, because if she had, the sadness he'd seen in her eyes over the last few months would've gone away. He knew Lizzy when she was keeping a secret like that, and her eyes were the key. If she'd known about the pregnancy, he would've noticed.

Fitz put a hand to his head in a futile attempt to ease the pain that was building. Was he happy that Lizzy was pregnant? Of course he was delighted----he was going to be a father! The only thing he wished could be different was the timing, because he really had planned on making some money in this sport before settling down to have a family.

Although Fitz was a member of the Darcy family, and he did in fact have a trust fund sitting somewhere in a bank, he refused to touch a penny of that money because it had come from his father. Fitz had always felt that his father had given him the money out of some sense of obligation and not because he'd wanted to, which rankled him to no end. Georgiana had tried to tell him that he was being foolish and stubborn and proud, but all he ever told her was that he had his reasons. When Fitz had spurned the trust, his father had gotten so furious that he put a condition on it----if Fitz would ever need the money, he would have to apologize in person. (Fitz had sarcastically asked if he would have to do so on his knees.)

Catherine had helped him in many ways, helping him find endorsement deals and getting him and Caroline included in exhibitions. He'd done well for a while, but then he'd fallen in love with Lizzy. After he'd defected from Catherine's camp, she'd gone out of her way to make it difficult for the two of them to get endorsements even though they were one of the most popular skating couples ever. Lizzy didn't have much money, either, which was what led them to join John Thorpe's skating tour. If it had lasted longer, perhaps the money issue wouldn't have been problematic, but Lizzy hadn't liked Thorpe and to be honest, neither had he. One year was all they tolerated of him before getting out of it.

Things were helped a bit by word leaking about Catherine's "tainted" gold medal win over Lizzy's mother. Catherine's influence waned, and some money freed up for them. Unfortunately, they were still far from being on solid ground financially.

But now Lizzy was having a baby, and they would have to stop skating for at least a year. That would mean no money coming in at all, not to mention the fact that it would be tough for Lizzy to regain her form after she'd given birth. Georgiana had struggled through it and still did sometimes.

Fitz slouched in his chair, something he'd been taught never to do, and continued thinking. He only had one alternative that he could see, and it would entail some serious apologizing. But if it meant that he was able to take care of his wife and child, then by God, he would do it.

Fitz suddenly sat up straight. He had inadvertently answered all of his questions.

Lizzy was still reeling from the news herself. She hadn't believed it when Dr. Morris had told her she was pregnant. She couldn't quite believe it now. She placed her hands on her stomach, which didn't seem any bigger to her, and tried to feel for anything. Nothing.

Maybe he was kidding around. Maybe it was a false positive. I can't be pregnant, because my hormones were out of whack like they always are right around that time and I'd gained a couple of pounds. But I didn't get morning sickness. I don't even feel nauseous. I feel fine, just a little tired, but the lack of sleep is understandable these days.

Lizzy frowned. She had been getting tired before the tour, too. And the hormones could be explained by pregnancy.

Before Lizzy had time to get used to the idea of being pregnant, let alone think about how she was going to deal with Fitz when he came in, no doubt indignant about the situation, her husband walked in.

Fitz was unsure of how to proceed. He didn't even know whether or not Lizzy was awake, but if she wasn't, he would wait until she woke up. Maybe the extra time would help him figure out what he should say.

"Hello." Lizzy's voice was a bit hoarse.

Fitz rushed to the bed before he could think about it. "Hi," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her hand. "How are you feeling?"

She smiled weakly. "I've had better days."

"I'll bet you have." Fitz squeezed her hand gently. "The doctor says you're going to be fine after a few days, though."

"I hope he's right." Lizzy bit her lip, a sure sign that she was nervous. "Um, Fitz...did the doctor tell you...everything?"

Fitz nodded. "He told me you're having a baby."

She let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "I would've preferred to tell you myself, but it doesn't surprise me that he went ahead and told you. I...I didn't know, Fitz. I swear to God, I didn't know." Her eyes started to well up with tears.

"I know, baby. I know," he said soothingly.

"But I know you didn't want us to have a baby now and...and I didn't want to tell you this because you'd be mad, but I went off the Pill."

"I know you did."

"You did?" Lizzy's eyes got suspicious. "How did you know?"

"You told me, right before you passed out again earlier today. Do you remember any of it?"

Lizzy was lost in thought. The only thing she really remembered was waking up and seeing Fitz. She'd babbled something at him, but what that was eluded her. Obviously, though, she'd told him that she'd stopped taking the Pill. "Not really," she admitted. "I think I remember someone screaming, and then...someone screaming. What happened?"

Fitz almost smiled. "The first person you heard screaming was Hannah Musgrove. She wasn't able to slow down fast enough to stop from running into you. You both hit your heads on the ground when you fell. You got lucky."

Lizzy gasped softly. "You mean she's...she's..."

"Not dead, I don't think. I haven't heard...anyway. You, at least, regained consciousness within minutes. She didn't. I think she's in surgery now. The other person you heard screaming was probably Caroline. She went into labor."

"Really? How's she doing?"

"She gave birth at the rink. A little boy, Christopher James Hampton. They'll have to save Phyllida for another day."

"Mmm." Lizzy looked nervously at him. "Are you mad at me?"

Fitz smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because I know how you felt about waiting until we had more money. I know how important that is to you, and..."

"Shhh." He placed a finger over her lips. "There is nothing in this world that is more important to me than you, Elizabeth Darcy. You and our baby."

"But are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, you were so adamant about waiting before and..."

"Before, my priorities were screwed up. Before, you weren't lying in a hospital bed, recovering from an accident that could've turned out a lot worse for you. Before, you weren't having my baby. Now you are, and that's the most important thing."

"I didn't know," she repeated.

"I know you didn't, or you would've told me long before now. And I would've seen it in your eyes." Fitz smiled. "You have such beautiful eyes. Did I ever tell you that I first fell in love with your eyes?"

"My eyes?" Lizzy's nose crinkled. "Why my eyes?"

"Because they fascinated me. They were always so bright and shining and...and, well, let's just say that I found them extraordinary."

"But they're just an ordinary brown."

"They're full of hidden depths. I wanted to explore all of those depths, even though at the time I was telling myself I was an idiot. You were the enemy, and a damned annoying one at that." Fitz smiled. "What was the first thing that made you fall in love with me?"

Lizzy got a familiar gleam in her eyes. "You really want to know?" she asked.

"Uh...probably not now, but go ahead."

She hesitated just long enough to make him squirm. "I fell in love with your smile. Your real smile, not that perfected smirk you learned at Lady Cat's House of Skating and Arrogance. The first time you gave me a genuine smile, that day we skated together before our competition four years ago, I knew. I didn't want to know, of course, because you were an arrogant jerk, but I think that somewhere, I knew the truth. And I fell in love with it because I think I saw beneath what you and Lady Cat had created. For a few moments on the ice, you weren't an arrogant jerk, you were...something else. I wanted to know what that something else was." She reached up to caress his cheek. "I found out, and it made me love you even more."

He took that hand in his. "So our child, in order to be simply irresistible, will have your amazing eyes and my nice smile."

Lizzy nodded. "I think that's it. But Fitz, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything. You want the moon?"

"Now, I hadn't thought of that." She smiled impishly.

"I'll get it for you later. Right now, I've had a rather exhausting day and the exertion might be too much."

"Okay, but I'll hold you to that. I want you to promise me that our child will have a choice about skating. I don't want our child to be pushed into it like I was."

Fitz nodded. "I promise."

"Thank you." She yawned. "What are we going to do? I mean, about the tour and everything? What about money?"

Fitz sighed. "I gave that a lot of thought before I came in here. We'll have to leave the tour, of course. I would be too afraid of dropping you in a lift. You'd probably get scared to jump. If we don't have confidence out there, we'll definitely run into trouble."

"George will never forgive us. He said when we agreed to join that we were the centerpiece of his whole tour."

"George will understand, Lizzy. He has two of his own, remember?"

"I know, but..."

"Don't worry about George. I'll talk to him tonight. If I have to, I'll perform solo or we could come up with some routine where you don't have to jump and I don't have to lift you. We'll get it sorted out before you leave the hospital."

"Maybe we should've been ice dancers," Lizzy said ruefully.

"Too late now. As for the money...I'm going to call my father."

"Oh, Fitz," Lizzy sighed. "I know you don't want to do that."

"You're right, I don't. But we have to have something to live on. I can swallow my pride long enough to apologize."

"Look on the bright side. Maybe your father will be delighted to find out that the Darcy name won't die out anytime soon," Lizzy said. "Maybe it won't be so hard."

"You don't know my father like I do. It's going to be impossible. He'll probably make me get on my knees and beg forgiveness before he gives me that money. But even if it comes to that, I'll do it. For once in my life, I'm not going to let my stupidity get in the way of something important. God knows I've done that enough."

Lizzy refrained from agreeing, but just barely.

Part 18

Georgiana had debated for several hours the wisdom of her decision. She had sobbed a good part of the time. She'd talked to Bret for all of it. She'd considered whether or not to warn Carl and Charlotte about what she was doing. She raged about having to do it at all.

But in the end, she'd told Bret to write the story she knew would have to be told in order to right the wrongs she had done. Bret then asked her if she was absolutely certain she wanted to do it, not just because he remembered the furor that had been caused because of the last story he'd done about her but also because he knew how difficult it was going to be for everyone.

"I know there's going to be some rough patches," Georgiana admitted sadly. "Maybe if I'd been honest from the beginning, there wouldn't have been. But...I have to believe that I'm doing what's best for Bridget. You're right. She deserves to know that Carl is her father, and Carl deserves some visitation with her. In order for both of those things to happen...I have to do this."

"You don't have to do this, you know. You could do it quietly."

"Sure. Then some sniping, sleazy tabloid journalist gets wind of it and reveals it as 'Georgiana Darcy's dirty little secret.' I'm not going to let that happen. I don't want Bridget growing up thinking that what happened between Carl and me was something dirty and wrong. It wasn't necessarily right, considering the fact that we both loved others, but..." she sighed. "I don't know. I want to say I'm not ashamed of what I did, but I know, in my heart, that I am."

Bret shook his head. "No. Don't ever be ashamed of it. Carl wasn't cheating on Charlotte, and you weren't cheating on Rich."

"But that's what it feels like."

"Sure, now it does. But it wasn't back then."

"I don't see a difference."

"On the day you slept with Carl, Charlotte was engaged to another man. Rich was in love with another woman. You two were free and clear to do what you did. You might be embarrassed by what happened----"

"There's a good word. Embarrassed. Yes, I am definitely embarrassed by the whole thing."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, though. You're a lovely, attractive young woman. Carl...well, he's not my type, but I suppose he's appealing to women." That brought a smile to Georgiana's face, which had been Bret's objective all along. "All I'm saying is, what happened between you two was natural."

"I wish I could believe that the press would portray it in such a light," Georgiana said ruefully. "But when word of this gets out, people are going to make me look like a lying, deceitful...insert derogatory expression here."

"Which is the perfect rationale for going public with this story before someone can root it out."

Georgiana chewed on a ragged fingernail for a second before taking a deep breath and saying, "All right, then. Go ahead and write it up." She went to lie down on the bed.

"Do you want to call Carl first?" he called as he set up his laptop on the table.

She shook her head violently, though he couldn't see her. "I can't."

"You have to. You can't go public with this without giving him some warning of what's to come."

"It's what he wants, Bret. He wants to be publicly acknowledged as Bridget's father."

"Yes, but does Charlotte want that?" he asked.

"Do you?" Georgiana shot back. "You know what people are going to say about your role in this, don't you? That I lied about the baby being yours and trapped you into marriage?"

"Georgiana, this is hardly the Victorian era. I'm writing the damned article revealing the truth. People are hardly going to think I would agree to even be seen with you if that were the case." Bret stopped setting up the computer and walked into the bedroom. He laid down beside Georgiana on the bed. "We know the truth. That's the important thing to remember. No matter what the world says, we know the truth. I know that you love me. You know that I love you. We love Bridget and we want what's best for her, and we've decided that means including her biological father in her life. But you can't spring a bombshell like this on the world without warning Carl that he's in for trouble. At the very least, you should ask him if this is the route he wants to take."

Georgiana put a hand over her eyes. "All right, all right. I'll call his suite and ask him for a sit-down. I think peace in the Middle East might be easier to accomplish, though."

"If you'd like, I'll call him and ask him to meet. That way you can get a little rest."

Just then, Bridget awoke from her nap with an indignant yell, wanting attention from someone. "So much for rest," Georgiana said wryly as she rose from the bed to attend to her child. "Call them, ask them to come by, and we'll settle everything tonight."

"Did he say what they wanted?" Charlotte asked as Carl pulled his clothes on almost as quickly as he'd taken them off.

"No, but I think if it's important enough that they would call at a time like this, then I think we should meet with them. Don't you?"

Charlotte pulled the sheet over her bare body and tucked it under her arms. "I don't know," she said in a small voice. "What if they've decided to fight you for custody?"

Carl frowned. "I doubt they'd call me to tell me that. They'd just send a lawyer or something. No, I think this is going to be good news, hon."

"Good news that can't wait until a decent hour?"

Carl glanced at the clock. "It's barely ten," he pointed out. "Not three in the morning or anything like that." He was in the middle of putting his shoes on when he stopped. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Charlotte shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. It's just this feeling I get from you whenever Bridget is mentioned." He put on his other shoe.

Charlotte brought her knees up until they were under her chin. She then put her arms around them. "You're right," she admitted. "I'm not sure how I feel about Bridget. I'm not sure how comfortable I am with the fact that she's your child and that you want to be part of her life. I know you couldn't forget about her and I'm not asking you to do that. I just..."

Carl sat down on the bed next to her. "I know," he said quietly, "that this whole situation is uncomfortable for you. If I could make things easier for you, I would. I want you to be part of this, too."

"But she's not my daughter and I don't think Georgiana would be happy if I stepped in."

"You're my wife. You're going to be Bridget's stepmother. Someday soon, when we have a baby of our own, that child will be Bridget's half brother or sister. I would hope that we could iron out our differences so that when the time comes, we could get along." Carl placed a hand on her clasped hands. "You need to come with me. This affects you, too. Please?"

Charlotte thought about it, wishing she could say no. She knew she didn't have that option, however. "All right," she said reluctantly. "I'll go...because you want me to."

Fifteen minutes found them standing in front of Georgiana's door, holding hands and looking nervous as Bret opened the door.

"Hi," he said with a smile. "Georgie was afraid that you wouldn't come, but I told her not to worry, of course you would. Come in, please."

Carl and Charlotte did as they were asked, walking into the room. Georgiana was sitting in a chair, cradling Bridget in her arms and looking distinctly nervous. Two more chairs were arranged across from her, and the couple took this as an indication of where they were to sit.

Once everyone was seated, Georgiana said, "I've decided to go public with Bridget's paternity."

Carl breathed a huge sigh of relief. Charlotte, however, was less enthusiastic. "Why?" she asked.

Georgiana gave her a panicked look but said, "Because it's the right thing to do. I've talked this over extensively with Bret and came to the conclusion that it would be best for Bridget if everything came out before she got older. If people know now, then..." Georgiana swallowed heavily. "Then someone can't hurt her with the truth as soon as she's old enough to know. And this way, she grows up knowing Carl is her father and doesn't end up hating us for lying to her all these years."

"Are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do?" Carl asked.

Georgiana hesitated, but then nodded. "I'm hoping that if I tell my side of the story, the press will go easy on me."

"I have a feeling things won't be as easy as you think," Charlotte said, sensible of how difficult this must've been for Georgiana.

Georgiana gave her a wistful look. "Nothing in my life has gone as easily as I thought it would," she admitted. "But that's life, I guess."

"You're not going to change your mind in the morning, are you?" Carl asked.

"No," Bret said. "We've been ten rounds with that question."

"Who are you going to talk to? Oprah? Larry King?"

"Jerry Springer might be the appropriate choice," Bret quipped, but no one laughed.

"I'm trusting Bret with the story," Georgiana said softly. "He's talked to a friend of his who is still at the Tribune. Bret didn't give him the specifics, just told him there might be a story coming up that he would write and send to him."

"That's probably a good idea," Charlotte told her. "If Bret writes the initial story, no one can think he wasn't aware that she wasn't his child."

"Exactly," Georgiana replied.

"If you intended to do this, why tell us?" Carl asked.

"I didn't intend to at first, but Bret talked me around to it. He felt----and I now agree with him----that you deserved some sort of warning before this hit the newspapers. This way, you'll have time to figure out what you want to say to the reporters who will no doubt be lining up to ask you about...about everything."

Carl took Charlotte's hand in his, clutching it nervously. "What...um, what about Bridget? Have you decided what to do about her?"

Georgiana looked down at her daughter, who had settled down somewhat now that Mommy was giving her all the attention she needed. "That was the other thing we wanted to talk to you about," she said. "We haven't come to any set decision about Bridget. I guess it would depend on you, and what you wanted to do."

"We can't move to St. Louis," Carl said. "Our life is in Seattle. Our family, friends...well, our friends are actually scattered across the planet, but anyway..."

"I'm not talking about either of us moving. The same thing applies to Bret and me. We can't move to Seattle. But we can't have one of those arrangements where she spends six months with us and six months with you. It would be impossible for a child to adjust to such an arrangement."

"I have no problem with Bridget living with you and Bret," Carl said. "I never intended to take her away from you. I just wanted to have some rights...visitation, vacations, that sort of thing."

"Holidays," Bret added. "She could spend every other major holiday with you and Charlotte, and a month in the summer. Spring breaks, when she's old enough for them."

"And she's told as soon as she's old enough that I'm her father," Carl finished. "I don't want to take anything away from Bret, but I do want her to know..."

"Of course she'll know," Charlotte said. "That's the whole purpose of doing this, isn't it?"

Georgiana nodded. "Are...are you all right with this, Charlotte?"

Charlotte stared at her right hand, still entwined with Carl's. Was she all right with this? It seemed to her that she'd been taking everything about this better than anyone had a right to expect. But what else could she do? Tell Carl that no, she wasn't happy with the fact that he had a child with another woman? Tell him that she wished he could forget about being Bridget's father? Tell him that she would rather not have to deal with what was about to become inevitable----tabloid scrutiny of their intimate lives?

Charlotte's gaze continued to roam on their entwined hands. Carl's wide gold wedding band twinkled in the overhead light. For better, for worse, she reminded herself. This is Carl's better, even if it is my worse. He's your husband and this is what he wants. And besides, you've admitted to yourself that being jealous of a baby is the height of idiocy. She's just a little girl. If you let yourself, you could love her as much as Carl does.

"I probably shouldn't be," she admitted, "but I suppose I am."

Carl hadn't gotten to bed until late, excited at the agreement that had been reached between Georgiana and himself, happy that Charlotte was being so wonderful about the whole thing, nervous about what it would be like to be a father. He was still sleeping when the phone call came. He groaned and put a pillow over his head to block out the sound. What sadist could possibly be calling at... He checked his bedside clock. Eight in the morning?

Whoever it was, they were determined to get him because the phone kept ringing. After another minute, it mercifully stopped.

"Why didn't you get that?" Charlotte mumbled with a yawn.

"Because I didn't want to get up," he said, muffled by the pillow. He felt a thump on his face, indicating that she'd hit him with her pillow. Reluctantly, he tossed his pillow aside. Then, in a quick move, he rolled over to take Charlotte in his arms. She squealed with delight and put up no protest. "I suppose I'll find out who it is later. Remind me to thank them. If we hadn't been awakened, we wouldn't have had time for anything fun."

"You know how I love your idea of fun," Charlotte said with a grin, burying her hands in his hair as he leaned in for a kiss.

Just before their lips met, the phone rang again. Charlotte groaned.

"Remind me to shoot them," Carl amended as he turned away from her and picked up the phone. "What do you want?"

Charlotte smothered her giggles at Carl's brusque tone.

"Carl? Lisa Deveraux, Inside Edition. I was wondering if you'd be up to answering some questions for me."

"This early in the morning, I'm hardly up to anything," he snapped.

"I wouldn't say that," Charlotte whispered. Carl put a finger to his lips to warn her to be quiet.

"Could I get your reaction to Georgiana Darcy's allegations that you're the father of her daughter, Bridget?"

Carl stilled, the woman's identity sinking in. Inside Edition. A tabloid TV show, if he recalled correctly.

"Allegations?" he asked coolly.

"Yes. There's reportedly an article in the Chicago Tribune this morning, written by her husband, in which you are named as the father of her love child."

Carl's heart sank. Charlotte had been right. The press was going to eat them alive about this revelation. "Bridget is..." Carl swallowed. "I don't think I wish to speak to you."

"But don't you have anything to say about this issue? Aren't you outraged about the fact that she has kept this secret until now? Don't you wonder why her husband is writing this article? Are Georgiana and Bret Sullivan on the verge of divorcing? What does your wife have to say? Are you going to..."

"The only thing I'm going to do at the moment, Ms. Deveraux, is hang up this phone. Don't call here again." He slammed the phone down.

Charlotte sighed heavily. "Tabloid reporter?" she asked.

Carl nodded. "I think the story that's going out is that Bret wrote the article to get back at Georgiana. That...woman asked me if they're getting a divorce."

"You're going to have to answer the questions sometime, Carl. You had to realize that when you agreed to this plan of action."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it, does it?" Carl groaned. "Don't answer that. I suppose you think it was a stupid thing to do, don't you?"

"I had my reservations about it," Charlotte concurred. "I was afraid of this reaction. But...in the long run, I think it'll turn out to be the right thing. Better for the truth to surface now rather than later, where it would do more damage to the most innocent person in this mess."

Carl nodded as the phone rang again. "How do they get this number?" he snapped. He picked up the phone and promptly set it back in the cradle. A few seconds later, he took it off the hook so they wouldn't be bothered again, but he wasn't in the mood to do anything else besides brood...and wonder if they'd made a huge mistake.

Georgiana's day wasn't going much better. Bret had taken the precaution of taking the phone off the hook before they'd gone to bed the night before, but when she stepped off the elevator on her way to the rink, there they were----a mass of humanity, or inhumanity, as the case seemed to be. Georgiana was sure that somewhere in there, decent, hard-working journalists were lurking who had sensitive, intuitive questions about her story. They were just impossible to find amidst the throng of muckraking, slimy creeps who shouted out questions like, "Are you absolutely certain Carl Denny is the father, or could it be someone else?"

The question left Georgiana blankly staring at the man who had asked it. Everyone went silent, thinking she was about to answer the question, but Georgiana took advantage of the opportunity to dart through the pack and into the taxi that the doorman had thoughtfully called for her. "Drive like hell," she told the driver, who found his car suddenly surrounded by reporters. "Drive over them if you have to. You won't be killing anything resembling human life."

"I can't do that, ma'am," the driver, a cheerful-looking man with thinning gray hair and gray eyes, said sadly. "We must wait until they leave."

Georgiana bit back tears as the people continued to pound on the windows, the door, the hood or trunk. The driver wasn't budging an inch.

"You could talk to them," he added.

"I could, but they'd only print lies about me," Georgiana murmured.

"Why? What did you do that was so terrible?"

"I...I..." Georgiana broke down and couldn't continue.

"Now, now, ma'am. Surely it's not as bad as that."

"It is," she wailed.

The man took a Kleenex out of a small packet he kept on the dashboard and handed it to her. She sniffled a thank you and blotted her eyes with it.

"Nothing in life is that bad," he said with assurance. "Take my life, for instance. Ten years ago, I was working as the district manager for a chain of fast food restaurants. They catch one of my store managers with his hands in the till, and I'm the one who gets fired."

"Why were you fired?" Georgiana asked.

"Because the SOB claimed I was the one behind it. I wasn't, but that's what he said. He also happened to be the nephew of the senior vice-president of the company, who knew he was a thieving bastard, but that didn't matter. I got the heave-ho."

"That's terrible," she said.

"Yeah. My wife finds out I was fired, she takes the kids and moves in with her mother. The only work I can get is driving this cab, which is now being besieged."

"I-I'm sorry," Georgiana stammered. "I should go." She reached into her purse for some money.

"Don't be silly. I'll get you out of here somehow."

Georgiana shut her purse with a defiant click. "Why do you say that even your life isn't bad?" she asked. "If you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. My life isn't bad because getting fired was probably the best thing that could've happened to me. I was miserable working at that job. I was miserable with my wife. Now, I get to meet with all sorts of people, hear all sorts of stories, and I get to spend more time with my kids. I'll give my ex credit, she knows the kids are crazy about me, and that I'm crazy about them. Not that I give her much more credit than that. So you see, no matter how bad things seem to you now, they'll look better given time."

"I know," she said softly. "It's living through it that I'm afraid might kill me."

"Aah, you look like a tough kid. You'll make it through."

Georgiana blew her nose. "I had to admit that a man other than my husband had fathered my daughter," she said. "I wasn't married at the time she was conceived. I barely knew my husband at the time, but...but we let everything think she was his child. When the real father found out, he wanted acknowledgment and I couldn't deny him that right. So now these vultures are...are hounding me."

"Georgiana Darcy," the driver said, turning around.

Georgiana nodded miserably. "That would be correct."

He smiled. "I'm Matthew Appleton, and I'll make you a deal. My daughter is a huge fan of yours. If you'll give me an autograph, I'll mow down every single one of these...persons."

Georgiana's head nearly hit the roof of the cab from someone pushing on the trunk. "All right," she agreed. "Do you have a pen and paper handy?"

Thirty seconds later, Matthew Appleton put the car in gear and honked the horn several times. Unfortunately, no one was willing to give up on their story in spite of the noise. If anything, it only made them more rabid. Georgiana was beginning to fear for her safety when she heard a familiar voice shouting, "BREAK IT UP!"

Someone else yelled, "Beat it! Move!"

Georgiana saw two men chasing away the reporters who were at the front of the car, pushing them out of the way. One of them raised a fist, driving several of them back. When there was enough space for the cab to drive through, the two men stepped aside.

The last thing Georgiana saw as the driver squealed his tires driving away was her brother staring after her. Rich had been the other person helping him.

Georgiana blinked back tears again. Sometimes, she realized, she really was crazy about her brother. When she wasn't absolutely bloody furious with him.

Part 19

"I didn't need to read that. I really didn't need to read that----Emma, darling, don't you know that I didn't need to read that?" George moaned as he reached for a fresh bottle of Maalox. He was sitting rink side, watching the skaters who were present going through the motions. Most of their energy they were trying to save for the performance.

"Of course," she said. "I did try to keep it from you. It's hardly my fault that you went out and bought your own copy of the newspapers this morning. Why do you read a Chicago paper anyway?"

"I didn't need to read it in the Tribune, for God's sake! Whoever Bret Sullivan gave that article to put it on the wire! Every newspaper from here to Los Angeles has the story now. And everyone thinks he wrote it out of a desire for revenge." George sighed. "I knew this was going to happen! Bad things always happen in threes. First, that crazed girl runs into Lizzy, putting her out for who knows how long."

"Fitz said she just has a concussion," Emma said soothingly. "She's leaving the hospital this afternoon."

"Is that so? Then why does he want to speak to me the moment he arrives? What's so important that he couldn't have told me over the telephone? I'm telling you, Emma, they're pulling out of this tour and it'll sink the whole thing. Frederick Wentworth can't skate until his girlfriend's better, and now Georgiana has to go and pull a stunt like this. Why did I ever get back into this business?"

"Dearest, you're really becoming a worrywart. Did you know that?"

George had started to pace but came to a stop. "A what?"

"You worry too much. You can't control what other people do. All you can do is work with what you're given, and you've done that quite well up to this point. I haven't heard that anyone asked for a refund because two of the featured skaters weren't available to skate. And Rich handled telling everyone the news quite well. I think things will be all right."

George noticed Fitz approaching. "Well, here comes my first bit of bad news for the day," he said. "Fitz is here."

"Don't be silly. He looks happy."

"That's what worries me."

Emma whacked him lightly on the arm before drifting onto the ice to practice. George mustered up a smile. "Hello, Fitz," he said politely.

"Hi, George. How are you today?"

"I've had better days. I...er, don't suppose you've had a chance to read a newspaper or anything, what with Lizzy's injury and all, so please, don't read it."

"Too late. Lizzy showed me the article when I went to visit her this morning. I half-expected something like this after the truth came out the other day. I may not agree with how my sister's gone about it, but I admire her courage. I don't think I would've told the press about it."

"And you're...okay with this?"

"No." Fitz's sunny smile disappeared. "They were hounding her so badly she couldn't leave the hotel. Finally, Rich and I had to almost literally beat them off her cab so she could go. I suspect it'll only get worse for her in the next couple of weeks. You don't intend to release her from her contract over this, do you?"

"What? Of course not! That's not why I brought it up at all. I was just afraid that you might...er, well..."

"Fly off the handle?"

"To put it mildly."

Fitz nodded. "Over the last few days, I have been beaten over the head with the realization that she's an adult and can look after herself. Since I'm not into self-abuse, I decided to let her do what she feels would be best and offer whatever assistance she needs when she asks for it."

George breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Now, as to Lizzy, when will she be back? I know you said she had a concussion and that she wouldn't be able to skate for a couple of days."

"It might be a little longer than that." There it was again, that smile which filled George with such a sense of dread.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Because while they were running tests on Lizzy yesterday, they found out something very interesting. She's having a baby."

"That's..." George smiled himself. "That's wonderful, Fitz. I'm happy for both of you."

"Thank you, George. We appreciate it. But this does leave us with a problem."

George's smile faded. "Oh, no. You're going to leave the tour, aren't you?"

"That might not be necessary, although it would probably be for the best towards the end if Lizzy starts showing early. But of course, we're going to have to radically change our routines for now."

George was flooded with such relief that he didn't care if all they did was circle around the ice doing nothing for four minutes. If they were willing to keep skating, he wanted them on the tour. "Lizzy's all right with that?" he asked.

Fitz nodded. "Actually, we called her father last night and asked him to meet us here. We're going to tell him the news and then have him choreograph a new routine for us which will keep her on the ground, or at the very most not very far off of it."

"That'll work out wonderfully," George said. "Wonderful. So you're definitely staying, then?"

"Yes, George, we're definitely staying. But Lizzy's still going to take until the end of the week before she returns to the ice. She was complaining of a headache this morning and she's not steady on her feet. I'm planning to stick her in bed until I can be assured she's completely well."

"Oh, Lord, not the smothering hubby routine," Emma said as she glided to a stop by the boards. "Fitz, if you're about to transfer the way you act toward your sister to your wife, you're only going to cause trouble."

"If I wanted to do that, I would've told Lizzy we weren't skating until after the baby was born. I'm just taking added precautions for the moment until her concussion is gone. What's wrong with that?"

"Absolutely nothing," George interjected. "In fact, Emma doesn't want me to admit this, but she rather liked being coddled when she was pregnant with Matthew."

"Those were doctor's orders, otherwise I would've fought tooth and toenail," Emma pointed out. "I hated being coddled. I felt like some repressed Victorian angel-of-the-house forced into a confinement because that's what good women did when they got pregnant."

"Well, you don't have to worry about Lizzy. She's going to be fine," Fitz said. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "I hope."

Frederick spent the night in the hospital, drinking copious amounts of vile coffee in order to keep himself awake. Still, he started nodding off around four-thirty and was awakened at nine the next morning by a rough hand jabbing at his shoulder. He opened his eyes slowly to see a familiar, craggy face peering down at him.

"Jamie!" he exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hello, Freddie." James Benwick, known affectionately to his friends and most other people as Jamie, took the seat beside his prize skater. "I hear you've had a bit of trouble in the last day or so."

"That's why you're here?"

Jamie nodded. "Hannah's parents called me soon after you phoned them. They couldn't come, of course."

"Of course," Frederick said hollowly. "I expected that."

"So they sent me here instead."

"You? But I told them I would call daily to let them know how she was doing until she was able to do it herself. Did I not tell them that? God, it would just be my luck that I forgot to do that."

"No, you told them that. They, on the other hand, knew that you have a contractual obligation to skate in that show, and that the show would be going on in spite of Hannah's accident. So they found my number in Hannah's address book and rang me, asked me to come here and relieve you."

Frederick shook his head. "I can't let you do that, Jamie. I have to stay with Hannah. It's the least I can do for her after...after..."

Jamie patted Frederick's shoulder. "I figured you would say that."

"As for my contract, I know that George Knightley would let me out of it in a heartbeat if I asked. He would grouse about it----the man lives to grouse, I think----but he'd do it. He knows how important this is."

"He has a wife, does he not?" Frederick nodded in answer. "Then he understands."

"Yes, but..." Frederick grimaced in memory. He had to tell Jamie everything, of course, which took a good while.

When he was finished, Jamie said, "I suspected as much."

"Suspected that Hannah was lying about----"

"No, you dunce, I didn't mean about Hannah. I didn't have a clue about what she was doing here, but now that you've told me what you found out since the accident, I suspect that she knew what I suspected. You're still in love with Anne."

Frederick feared the guilt was going to consume him. "Of course I still love Anne," he said quietly. "I have always loved Anne, and I always will. Even when I hated her, I loved her."

"And because you loved her so much, you were never able to love Hannah enough," Jamie continued.

"Are you here to make me feel even worse than I already do or was there another reason for your being here?" Frederick snapped.

"I already told you my reasons for being here. I'm here to watch over Hannah and report back to her parents when you get on the tour bus and leave town."

"And I already told you that I wasn't going to be leaving until she wakes up."

"Freddie...I think it would be a good idea if you went ahead and left. If nothing else, you can take solace in your skating. It's helped you get through some difficult times before. I know you. If you're here more than another day or two, they're going to have to put you on a suicide watch because you're going to keep hammering home the idea that this was somehow your fault."

"It was my fault."

"No, it wasn't. You would've fought with Hannah about the issue no matter where it took place. It was just her misfortune that she chased you out onto the ice and then left in such a hurry. When she wakes up, I know she won't be blaming you. Say what you want about Hannah Musgrove, but at least admit that she owns up to her mistakes. This was one of them...albeit one with a possibly tragic ending."

"One that could have been avoided."

"Granted." Frederick gave him a ferocious look. "Listen, just because I'm here to give you moral support doesn't mean I'm going to lie to you. It was a rotten thing to sneak away from Hannah when you two had something serious like that to discuss."

"Only we didn't have that something to discuss. I'm trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, as Anne said I should----"

"Anne? Anne's been here?"

"Yes. She's the one who called Hannah's parents to tell them what had happened."

Jamie smiled. "I'll have to stop by and say hello to her before you leave town. How is she?"

"She's..." Frederick paused. "She's fine, I guess. Looks about the same as she ever did."

"Angelically beautiful, then?"

Frederick gave him another dark look. "Don't start."

"I won't." Jamie sighed. "This is an awful mess, Freddie. An awful mess. I'm standing by my first opinion. It will do you good to skate rather than pace these halls. If you'd like, I'll call you every day when I call her parents. And you know that she's in good hands."

"But I should be here. My face should be the first one she sees."

"Have you ever stopped to consider, given the circumstances in which she ended up in Critical Care, that she might not want to see you?"

Frederick hadn't thought of it in that light. He'd just presumed that Hannah would want to see him first, and he wanted her to see him so she'd know he hadn't abandoned her, that he'd stuck by her. And of course, he wanted to know the truth about her false pregnancy. Had it been an honest mistake or a ruse to keep him by her side?

"I..."

"I can see that you're weakening."

"I can't leave you here alone. Not after what happened with Phoebe." The moment the name was out of Frederick's mouth, he wished he hadn't said anything. But it was true. Jamie was stood over Phoebe's bedside for three months, watching the woman he loved, the woman he'd planned to marry, slowly die from the injuries she'd sustained in a boating accident. It wouldn't be fair of Frederick to leave Jamie in similar circumstances.

"It wouldn't be the same," Jamie insisted. "Besides, I'm getting to be an old hat at this sort of thing."

"Jamie, I'm dreadfully sorry..."

"Don't be. You were voicing a valid concern, but don't worry. I'll be fine. I'm sure Hannah will be fine as well, and I'll be here to watch out for her while you're gone."

Frederick thought it over for a long time before he said, "All right, Jamie. I don't think it's the right thing to do, but I know you're right. I'll run mad here. At least on the ice, I can...can work out some of my problems."

"Then it's settled. Why don't you go back to the hotel and get packed up? The bus will be leaving sometime soon, correct?"

Frederick nodded dumbly and, although it only made him feel guiltier, felt that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Jamie was here to help out.

Anne finished pulling her blonde hair back in peered into the mirror to see if there were any stray hairs sticking out. Satisfied that she'd gotten it on the first try, she moved out of the way and allowed others to finish their grooming.

Her thoughts were, for a change, focused solely on the performance to come. She supposed it was morbid to admit to having gotten a good night's sleep last night of all nights, when Frederick's girlfriend was lying in a coma at the hospital, but that's what she'd gotten. Anne was more inclined to believe the rest had come from the fact that she'd gotten very little of it over the past several days than because she was sleeping easier about Hannah.

Or perhaps her rest had been easier because she'd known, in her heart, that things were finally over between Frederick and her. Hannah's accident had taken care of anything that might've happened, because Anne knew Frederick quite well. He wouldn't leave Hannah now even if he discovered that she'd deliberately lied about the baby, because he felt so guilty about her accident. And Anne knew Hannah, or she'd known women like her. Hannah would milk that accident for everything it was worth, which would be a great deal.

Whatever the cause of her restful night, she was refreshed and ready to skate when her turn came up. She had even been in a good enough mood to try and tackle Lizzy's impossible pinball score, which had been a lost cause from the moment she glanced at the machine. Anne was not nearly as good at pinball, which made her reflect ruefully that Lizzy had intended to teach her to play. Now she didn't know if they would get that chance, since rumor had it that Lizzy and Fitz were quitting the tour.

"I hate to say this, because it's not good to be negative, but if you're trying to beat that score you're going to be out of luck. Someone did a lot of praying to the pinball gods for that score."

Anne almost cursed as she lost track of the ball and found it sliding past the flippers. "You couldn't have waited thirty seconds to tell me that?" she asked the man standing behind her.

Three seconds later, she was glad she'd gotten the words out before taking a good look at him, because he was absolutely gorgeous. He was tall, which she'd always liked in a man, with dark golden blond hair and dark blue eyes which crinkled at the corners. He had a patrician nose and a firm jaw, to go with the most amazing set of dimples she'd ever seen on a man. He filled out the expensive suit he wore quite well. And best of all, he'd spoken to her with a British accent. She adored British accents.

"Sorry," he apologized, not looking uncomfortable at the fact that Anne was staring at him in wonder. He extended his hand. "Bill Ellison."

"Ah...Anne Elliot." Anne hoped her palms weren't sweating as she shook his hand. "But I suppose you probably knew that already."

"I had an inkling," Bill Ellison admitted with a grin. "I must say, Miss Elliot, that I had heard reports of your beauty, but you far surpass the reports."

"Oh..." Anne blushed. "I hardly think that's true, but thank you anyway."

"Did your father get in contact with you for me?"

Anne went cold. Her father? Then she remembered the message from him the night she arrived. She'd never gotten around to finding out why he'd called. "My...father and I don't really talk," she said. "In fact, except for one phone call, we haven't spoken in nearly eight years."

"Oh!" He looked startled. "Oh, my. I wish I'd known. I never would've contacted your father if I'd known...I suppose I should've gone through your coach, Mrs. Russell."

"Actually, if you're wanting to talk to me about something, I'm the person you needed to go through. I'm no longer affiliated with Mrs. Russell, either. I'm...sort of flying solo right now."

Bill's grin reappeared. "Excellent. First of all, let me say that I'm not some traveling salesman looking for you to pitch something. I'm a sports agent."

"A...a sports agent? Why would I need a sports agent? I have..." Anne realized with a frown that Susan had always handled money matters and sponsorships and endorsement deals for her, something which was going to have to stop immediately. She wanted nothing more to do with the woman.

"I presume that your former coach takes care of your money?"

Anne nodded slowly. "We...it seemed easier that way. She was good with money, and I was too busy skating to bother."

"Of course. But now that your relationship has apparently come to an end, it would be wise to let someone else handle those details for you. That's why I'm here. I had heard that you were unrepresented and hoped to persuade you into becoming one of my clients."

"Who else do you represent?" Anne asked.

Bill looked to either side of them, obviously not wanting to talk in front of many other people. He bent down and whispered a couple of names in Anne's ear, big enough names to leave her impressed.

"Really?" she asked when he'd stepped back.

"Absolutely. They make quite a bit in endorsement money all the time. I work hard for my clients, and I would work hard for you as well, if you would let me."

"Well, I would need some time to think about this."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't. In fact, how about if I buy you a cup of coffee after this show is over and we'll discuss it further?"

Anne thought about Frederick, who could probably use a little moral support right now. She should go to the hospital and see how Hannah was doing. She'd told him she would.

"I would, but we're leaving soon after the show's over and I have an errand to run," she said.

"Oh."

"But we're going to be in Philadelphia tomorrow and I know I'll have time for you to give me your sales pitch then," Anne added quickly.

There was that incredible smile again. "Excellent. I'll see you in Philadelphia, then."

"You're not sticking around for the show?" Anne asked.

"Well, I meant see you personally. Of course I'm staying for the show." Bill took her right hand in both of his and gave it a quick kiss. "Until tomorrow in Philadelphia, then."

Anne watched him walk away, slightly dazed. Life was a funny thing. She'd been sad just fifteen minutes ago because the love of her life was snared in a web of guilt and deceit, but now...now there was a new possibility.

Don't be silly. He's just a sports agent. He's not interested in anything but your earning ability.

Anne spent a few futile minutes trying to convince herself of that, but then she thought of him kissing her hand and complimenting her beauty. She doubted every sports agent did that. No, she suspected that Bill Ellison was very interested in her in more ways than one.

Part 20

As the tour continued on to Philadelphia, Georgiana began to seriously question her sanity and her intelligence. She couldn't, for the life of her, figure out what mad notion had persuaded her that going public with the truth about Bridget would make the situation easier for everyone. Before, no one had known and although children tended to be too talkative at times, there had been a chance that they might've been able to teach Bridget to keep the secret. Now, the whole world knew and it was all her fault.

Not only had her strategy backfired in horrific fashion, the press gleefully pouncing on her whenever she stepped a toe in public, but the stories that swirled about concerning her marriage troubled her more than anything. No matter how many times she and Bret insisted that their marriage was fine, the rumors continued to abound that one or the other of them had been to see a divorce lawyer. After the first day, she stopped answering their questions altogether. The press was desperate to catch a glimpse of her "love child," because a picture of the little-seen Bridget Sullivan was worth a fortune within two days of the interview's publication.

She knew it was no easier for Carl and Charlotte, for now rumors were surfacing about their marriage as well. One newspaper claimed that Charlotte had had no idea about Carl's "deep dark secret." Another reported that Carl had attempted to force Georgiana to have an abortion rather than risk his happy future. A third reported that Bret had been paid handsomely to marry Georgiana and pretend to be Bridget's father. (Oddly enough, this last newspaper had reported the day before that Bret had had no idea he wasn't Bridget's father.)

Charlotte had released a statement through George Knightley, stating that "her marriage was very happy, she had been aware all along that her husband was the father of Bridget Sullivan, and she had no intentions of getting a divorce." Carl had only admitted to being Bridget's father and had left it at that.

Which left Georgiana in the middle of the storm.

She was pathetically grateful to those who helped protect her in those three days after the interview was published. Every time she turned around, she saw Fitz driving a pack of reporters away from her. He would never say anything to her or attempt to ask if she had forgiven him for the way he'd behaved on the way to Boston, but she knew that this was his way of apologizing. Rich had come to her aid a couple of times, and Amy had helped her in another situation. Georgiana had felt awful when it had been Amy, because of her being Charlotte's sister, but Amy just chuckled and said, "Well, it's sort of like I'm an aunt. You wouldn't mind if I thought of her as a niece, would you?"

Georgiana had found that she didn't mind that at all.

Even skaters she didn't know very well came to her rescue. One morning, while she was warming up, a tabloid reporter sneaked into the arena and was upon her before Georgiana could even realize she'd been found. The man asked her a deeply personal and embarrassing question, practically in her face, and when she didn't answer right away repeated his question with as much contempt as he could.

Marc Gercourt was several inches shorter and who knew how many pounds lighter than the reporter, but he managed to shove the man onto the floor. "Have you no decency, monsieur? Leave poor Georgianne alone!"

The reporter looked like he wanted to put up a fight, but the way Marc looked at him made him change his mind, for he managed to get to his feet and scamper off before Marc could do anything like throw a skate blade at him.

But the day Lizzy had come to her rescue was the last straw. A particularly rude and determined woman had shown up at the hotel, shoving a tape recorder in her face and demanding to know if it was true that Georgiana had been asked to leave the skating tour because she'd brought disgrace to the sport of figure skating. Humiliated, in tears, Georgiana had fled to the bathroom.

The woman followed her inside, and when Georgiana had run into a stall and slammed the door, the reporter walked into the other stall and stood on the seat, hanging over the wall separating them and repeating that question and many others. None that Georgiana hadn't heard already, of course, but still painful.

"Leave me alone," she sobbed. "Just leave me alone."

"The public has a right to know, Ms. Darcy," the woman said snottily. "And you have an obligation to tell us."

Georgiana had been about to do something she would regret later----which was to tell the woman exactly where she could shove her right to know----when the woman shrieked and disappeared. A minute later, she was cursing at the top of her lungs.

"Oh, shut up! It was just lemonade," Georgiana heard Lizzy say. She unlocked the stall and cracked it slightly so she could see what was going on. The woman's hair and suit were drenched. Lizzy was holding what had been a full sports bottle. Now only a little bit remained at the bottom.

"I'll sue you for this! You could've hurt me!" the woman shrieked.

"Sure. And as soon as you file your lawsuit, my sister-in-law will file a harassment suit against you, your employer, and your newspaper. I have a funny feeling that I know who would win when I bring up the fact that you followed her into a bathroom and disregarded her privacy."

"What privacy does one expect in a bathroom?"

"With a locked door on the stall? Would you want someone peeking over the stall at you when you needed a moment of privacy? I somehow don't think you would, but you violated Georgiana's privacy by doing just that. Now, if you're not out of here in thirty seconds, I'm calling security...and a lawyer."

The woman looked as though she wanted to scream and continue her argument. Instead, she said, "Just wait until you read what I write about your precious sister and that bastard baby of hers."

"Oh, goody. We'll add libel to the list of things we sue you over." Lizzy smiled sweetly. "Have a nice day."

The bathroom door was opened with such violence that it nearly hit the wall. The woman stalked out. Once she was gone, Lizzy shut the door quickly and locked it.

"I think we're alone, Georgie, if you want to come out," she said. "I don't see anyone else in here."

"Double check the stalls. You never know who might have their feet up waiting for such an opportunity."

If Lizzy thought this an odd request she hid it well and checked to be sure. "There's no one," she said after checking the last door. "But there are about half a dozen other reporters outside, waiting for you to come out. The woman was probably wearing a tracking device so that when she found you, everyone else would know where you'd be."

Georgiana hesitantly opened the door the rest of the way. With a sniffle, she stepped out of the stall. "I'm an idiot, Lizzy," she said brokenly. "I thought I was doing the right thing for...for Bridget and Carl and now I see that I haven't done anything but make trouble. Again."

Lizzy looked at her with a sad smile on her face. "I think you're the bravest person I've ever met, Georgiana," she said. "So does Fitz."

"The most foolish person you've ever met, you mean," Georgiana sniffled. "I should've known better. I saw the way they treated you when that mess came out with Rich and I should've known what would happen when I went public with this."

"I don't think anyone really knows what it's like until they've faced the fire themselves." Lizzy raised herself onto the counter, her back to the mirror. She wiggled around until she wasn't practically sitting on top of a sink. "Do you think you did the right thing?"

"I don't know," Georgiana said brokenly. "I thought I was at the time. I wanted everything out in the open. I wanted to get it over with before someone dug into the matter and...and Bridget found out that way."

"It was a good idea," Lizzy told her. "Ever since four years ago, I've found that secrets only hurt people. It hasn't stopped me from keeping them, even from Fitz, but sometimes the best way is to come clean about something."

"If...if you were in my situation, would you have..."

Lizzy shook her head. "I can't answer that. I don't know what I would've done. It was hard enough for me not to tell Fitz that I was secretly trying for a baby. The only reason he found out is because I was temporarily dazed and confused." She smiled. "Well, that and the fact that I'm pregnant."

Georgiana's eyes widened. "You're pregnant? Seriously?"

Lizzy nodded.

"Oh, Lizzy, I'm so happy for you!" Georgiana gave her a huge hug. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"But...you're planning to skate tomorrow, aren't you? Didn't the doctor clear you to skate?"

"Yes, I am, and yes, he did. I'm not planning on doing lifts or jumps. My father's joining us tomorrow----the earliest he could get away from my mother----so that he can choreograph a new routine that will hopefully hide the fact that we're not doing those things. I have my doubts about that, but since the fans will soon know about the pregnancy, they'll hopefully understand."

"And until you can learn the routine?"

"Fitz has made a few modifications on our old one. It should hold up well. He said that people thought it a bit strange that he skated it alone the last two times on the ice."

"It looked a bit strange," Georgiana admitted. "But I thought the cause was that you were still concussed. No one told me about the baby."

"Not very many people know. Just Fitz and me, and George, of course. Maybe Rich. Probably Emma." Lizzy's smile dimmed somewhat. "We wanted to wait a couple of days before telling you because of everything that's going on. He felt...well, that it would be a bit like flaunting good news in the face of all your troubles."

Georgiana shook her head. "No, it's not. I needed some good news right now. Thank you for telling me."

"In that case, I'm glad to be of service."

Georgiana almost laughed, but the stress and strain of the past few days caught up to her and it came out as a strangled sob. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Lizzy," she wept bitterly. "They won't leave me alone. They're printing lies about me, about my marriage...about everything. And now Bridget's going to grow up a freak, a bit of curiosity for people to laugh at."

"No, she's not." Lizzy hopped down from the counter and put her arms around Georgiana. "Doing this now will get that out of the way. Do you know how many babies are born every year to single mothers? And technically, you weren't single. You just weren't married to Bridget's real father, that's all. This will all blow over eventually."

"No, it won't. These things just keep going on and on forever. It's like what Julia Roberts says in Notting Hill. It may not seem like much now, but someday in the future, it'll come back. It'll always come back and haunt me. It'll haunt her."

"What are you going to do to stop that?" Lizzy asked.

"Do? What can I do? I tried telling the truth. Look what that got me." Georgiana sighed. "No, the best thing I can do is not to say anything from this moment on. I should retire from public life, change my name, change Bridget's name..."

"You could do that," Lizzy said neutrally. "It worked for Lydia, for a while."

Georgiana didn't know whether or not Lizzy meant that as a slap in the face, but it seemed as though she had. "What do you think I should do?" she asked, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

"It's not a question for me to answer."

"What do you mean, it's not a question you can answer? I'm asking you for advice here."

"Advice you will either take or not take, depending on whether or not it's what you want to hear. Do you want me to tell you that you should leave the tour and hide in anonymity for the rest of your life? Then that's what I'll tell you."

"That's not what I'm asking you."

"I know it isn't. But you don't need me to make your decisions for you, Georgiana. Do you know why Fitz still acts as overbearing as he does? It's because you haven't proven to him that you can do things on your own."

"I got married on my own," Georgiana said resentfully. "I gave birth on my own, I've maintained a happy marriage on my own. If that's not proof...."

"And yet here you are, running from reporters. Hiding in a bathroom. It's like you've tried to be daring, to do something shocking, but now you don't want to take the responsibility that goes with it. You wanted to get the truth out in the open and that was a good thing. But you did it in such a way that questions have arisen, and you haven't answered them."

"That's ridiculous. I was completely up front about the situation. It was all there in Bret's article."

"I know it was, and you know it was. But we're living in a very cynical world today. If you'd put your name on that article alongside Bret's, people might've been more willing to believe that it wasn't what they think it was----a hatchet job done by an outraged husband."

"But I've told them it wasn't that. I told them over and over, and no one believed me."

"I saw you on television. You didn't look like someone who had given the interview freely. You were upset and tearful."

"Of course I'm upset! I've got a hundred reporters shouting questions about me and my personal life, making innuendoes about me, asking questions like that witch who came in here a little while ago. What am I supposed to do? Tell me that, Lizzy. What am I supposed to do about this?"

"I don't know," Lizzy said quietly. "Only you know the answer to that. But you're not going to find it hiding from the world. Even if you are successful----which, given the world we live in today, you probably won't be----there's always going to be a cloud over Bridget if you run away. You said you came out for her sake, and that was a good thing. But you can't step away from it now."

"I can," Georgiana said defiantly. "It's my life."

"But you're doing this for her. Think of her life, and what it'll become if you don't finish what you've started. Someday down the road, some enterprising reporter's going to get a maggot in his head to find out whatever became of Georgiana Darcy and her daughter. He'll find you and expose you and everything you've done now will be for nothing. There's someone else you need to consider in all of this mess, and that's Bret."

"Bret," Georgiana murmured.

"Yes. You remember him, don't you? Your husband? The one who has a book under consideration somewhere? His career's about to take off. Do you want him to have to give that up to hide with you? Because that's what he'll do. He loves you that much."

"I can't let him do that. You're right, he would do it for me."

"Then what do you plan to do?"

Georgiana's gaze slid to the locked door, her thoughts to what lay beyond it. "I can't face them," she said. "I can't. They're so horrible. The questions are so embarrassing."

"I know," Lizzy said, putting an arm around Georgiana's shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze. "I've been there. You'll get through it, though, because despite the fact that you've been hiding, you're a strong person. You've done so much in this past year on your own, without your brother or me. You can do this. Maybe once you have, it'll be over."

"I doubt that." Georgiana sighed.

"You might be surprised. The more honest and up-front you are about things, the less people want to ask you questions. It's like they're afraid of the truth."

"Some of them certainly don't like reporting it."

Lizzy laughed. "That's true. But if you speak out, you'll refute whatever they claim." She stepped away. "Well, I'm going. Fitz is probably sending out a search party because I haven't turned up in our room yet."

"You're not going to stay?" Georgiana asked, any courage she had to face the throng outside fading.

Lizzy shook her head. "You're on your own here, Georgiana." She looked thoughtful. "I think this time, you have to be." She turned and walked to the door, unlocked it, and walked out. Georgiana was quick to shut the door behind her and relock it so no one could get in. She needed to time to become composed, and to consider what she wanted to say.

Thirty minutes later, Georgiana took one final look at herself in the mirror. She didn't look as bad as she had a while ago, but not as good as she could. She reached into her duffel bag and pulled out her makeup case. She spent about ten minutes touching up her makeup, and while she would fool no one who knew her into thinking she was fine, she knew she was presentable enough for the reporters who were still waiting for her outside the bathroom door.

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and stepped outside. Almost immediately, flashbulbs went off in her face and she took a defensive step back.

Oh, God, I can't do this. I can't. I'm too scared to do this.

"Georgiana, is it true that Carl Denny has asked for a paternity test to prove he's the biological father of your child?"

"Georgiana, are you planning to divorce your husband for that article he wrote?"

"Ms. Darcy, have you heard whether or not Carl and Charlotte Denny are planning to divorce?"

"Is it true you're being sued by the Dennys for slander?"

"Hey, Georgie, have you ever considered..."

Georgiana raised a hand, and the questions died out. "I am prepared to give you a statement at this time. It is one from me, and it is the truth. You may not want to believe it. Some of you," she gave an arch look to the reporter who had followed her into the bathroom, noting that the woman had had enough time to change clothes, "will ignore what I say here and print whatever fancy strikes your mind. But I am going to give a statement, answer your questions, and hopefully put an end to the persecution of myself and my family, and Carl and Charlotte Denny."

No one spoke for a minute, and in that minute, Georgiana found a peculiar sort of empowerment.

"Ms. Darcy..."

"It's Mrs. Sullivan. And it will remain Mrs. Sullivan for some time," she corrected. "That's what I wanted to tell you. I did give my husband the interview he wrote about in the Chicago Tribune. He did not write it to get back at me for any reason." Georgiana took a deep breath. "Carl Denny is the biological father of my child, Bridget. This fact is not being disputed by anyone. While I am not about to give you details of the brief liaison I had with Carl, it took place before I married my husband. Bret Sullivan and I were married after I became pregnant. He was aware at the time that he wasn't my child's father, but he didn't care. He loved me enough to marry me anyway."

"Georgiana..."

Georgiana raised her hand again for silence and got it. "Charlotte Denny has been aware for some time that her husband Carl is Bridget's father. She was aware of this long before she married him." Georgiana felt it would be prudent to keep silent about the fact that Carl hadn't known before his marriage. "Carl and Charlotte Denny...are very dear friends of mine. While this situation is very awkward for all of us, we're doing our best to struggle along with it." She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and continued. "I am so sorry for any pain or suffering I've caused them by coming forward with the truth about my daughter. I thought..." Georgiana stumbled for a moment. "I didn't think it would be this bad. I didn't think my privacy would be violated to the point where I couldn't even enter a restroom without someone following me."

Several reporters turned to see who Georgiana was looking at. The woman turned an ugly shade of red and busied herself searching through an enormous bag hanging from her left shoulder.

"But...as my sister-in-law has pointed out to me, this is a cynical world we live in. I've hidden behind others for so long that I never truly discovered that for myself. Until now. I'm through hiding, and I'm ready for your questions, but let me make it clear that this will be the only time I'm willing to answer them."

Everyone started shouting questions, jumbling words until Georgiana wasn't sure she knew who was speaking or what they wanted to know. She held up a hand for silence again. She felt a small thrill go through her when it got silent almost immediately.

"How can I answer questions if all of you talk at once? One at a time, please."

No one spoke. Finally, Georgiana pointed at a short, thin man with a bald head and a smile on his lips. "Winston Barklage, USA Today, Ms...sorry, Mrs. Sullivan. Have you and Carl Denny come to an arrangement about custody of you child?"

"We are in the process of doing that. As you can imagine, it's not going to be easy with the two of us living in different states. We'll get it straightened out."

"Will you daughter keep your husband's name?" A heavyset woman teetering on four-inch heels asked.

The question caught Georgiana a bit off-guard. "I...we haven't thought that through. We've discussed calling her Bridget Sullivan-Denny or just Bridget Denny, but there's nothing set in stone right now."

"Georgiana, I'm Louise Thatcher of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch."

"I recognize you," Georgiana said with a smile.

"Thank you. There was a rumor that George Knightley asked you to resign from the tour. Could you confirm or deny that?"

"Deny it. Absolutely. George Knightley and my fellow skaters have been nothing but supportive of me and this...ordeal I'm going through at the moment. Some of you are aware of the lengths they've gone to in order to keep you guys away from me." Georgiana gave another familiar face, that of the man who'd stalked her at the arena, a glare. He did not look away as the woman from the bathroom had. Georgiana refused to be the first to look away, either, so when he finally blinked, she counted it as a victory, sneered at him, and turned to the next question.

The questioning lasted for almost an hour. Georgiana dealt with questions concerning her future as a skater, as a wife, and as a mother. By the time the last question was answered, she had a good feeling that she wouldn't have to answer them again for a long time.

Continued In Next Section